The Apprentice

With the ending of his speech, Fin gave Eiden a stoppered bottle. The glass was slightly opaque, yet the apprentice’s senses pierced through the gloom of crystal, seeing the milky-white liquid within. The potion was draught of anaesthesia, a compound that put the body in a state similar to sleep. Yet, it lasted much more than a night, easily sending one into a slumber that could last weeks if properly administered. Eiden saw a glimpse of mediker’s needles atop a shelf. He only guessed those would be used to periodically inject the torpor-inducing substance into his system.

Next, Fin gave him two pills; ovoid and oblong vectors for medicines in powdered form. Eiden closed his eyes before also swallowing the first one. Burgundy was its color, and to his spirit, it felt warm and smelled of fire.

A few breaths passed before a fire roared in his body, be it in his stomach or Center. The pills were both parts chemical and spiritual, sending his bodies into a frenzy. And as his metabolism grew exponentially, so too did the effects of the draught quickly take root. His eyelids started to droop discordantly as though weighted by lead.

Eiden quickly swallowed the next and final pill. It looked white like refined sugar yet did not glisten as it did. Its surface was cool to the touch, like fresh spirits taken from under a larder. The last he felt before sleep took him was the frenzy in his spirit and body abating as the second pill counter-acted the first.

The step is mine to take.

The Exorcist

The Exorcist looked slightly forlorn as he witnessed his apprentice drift away into sleep. Yet, he did not let those emotions bind him for long.

It is time.

The Exorcist held his right close to his heart, his index and middle fingers up in a gesture with the rest of his digits bent and tucked away. The somatic sign looked a bit like a prayer or a hand seal from the Eastern realms.

Yet, they served not to connect to a Wellfontian Constellation nor to any strand of the Weave. They were much more mundane, instead only focusing his attention on his fingers.

The Gentle Breath.

His aura turned calm like a spring pond, gently flowing through the ethereal. No aspect of his spirit was unbalanced throughout the planes, achieving momentary and perfect harmony. It generated the same effect as Eiden’s planar-attunement, momentarily ephermalizing his body. The technique extended to his clothes as well, plunging them into the ethereal.

As above, so below.

The Exorcist transformed into a specter, his body transparent and wrought of white. Gentle mist emanated from him, his eyes made from scintillating, heliotropic orbs like the noon sun.

The Exorcist wrung his mind and spirit dry of the creed that enveloped him: balance. With that arcana taking hold, he was a master of ebb and flow. Only those that commanded mastery over themselves could do so to another.

He touched his fingers to Eiden’s forehead, the digits glowing gentle gold as they became the nexus for his magicks.

As below, so above.

Eiden’s eyes briefly shone argent even with his eyelids closed. The arcane manifestation bled away as the apprentice relented upon sensing his mentor’s aura.

The sympathy took hold, the Exorcist’s spirit wrapping over his apprentice’s psyche. A strand appeared in his mind’s eye, the very same thing that connected a mage to the Spirit and Soul Paths. Fin took a mental knife to the construct, fraying it ever so slightly. Its fibers came unwound, disconnecting Eiden from the surface of his etheric body.

The Exorcist let go the reins of his power, breathing out a mundane, mortal breath. His body and clothes re-emerged from the ethereal, turning back into the stuff of flesh and cloth.

He had lived centuries, seen empires rise and crumble. He had mourned countless friends and family. He had slaughtered hundreds of thousands of beings. Most of his mortal bounds had been forever shed, yet one thing Fin could not forsake was his breath. It anchored him to his humanity. Without it, he would have been but a shell, a puppet that thought it was Phineas Luciean.

The Exorcist wiped his brow, though there was barely any perspiration. Even then, it wasn’t a product of his body but instead of his mind. He had no sweat glands.

He shook his head as a wry smile appeared on his lips. To think that his psyche passively conjured water because it refused to forget of the past… It was amusing, to say the least. The body could be transcended, yet the mind still clung to mortality.

Fin took an alchemical apparatus from the stone-wrought shelf, bringing it over next to his sleeping apprentice.

Eos, Eithe Tir’Natha. He incanted inside his mind.

[Stone, Rise as does the Flame.]

The enchantment took form, the words resonating with the Weave. The strands unraveled under his will and reformed, a wisp of the Wellfont empowering the spell-construct further.

Stone rose from the floor in the form of flame. A haze of heat permeated it. The fire was colored the same as the stone underfoot, grey and crackling. The phenomenon was wonderful to behold, the wizardous flame using the ground itself as it devoured the earth. In its wake, a pedestal of andesite was formed.

Its surface was solid as a standing stone, possessing its weathering and texture in conjunction with durability.

Fin set the bronze and copper-covered glass contraption atop his pedestal. He went towards the shelving and took out a mediker’s needle, a gadget made of a large glass tube marked with measurements, also called a syringe. At one end sat a hollow metal needle. Opposite to that end were two circles conjoined together, not unlike a lemniscate, the symbol for infinity.

The Exorcist injected the compound inside the mediker’s needle into Eiden’s bloodstream, starting the Trials in earnest. The substance was a tincture of sorts, various different herbs refined and unrefined in nature.

The two pills Eiden had ingested were to prepare the body. When both capsules were swallowed together, they became inert after a time. Yet when combined with the grasses inside the syringe, they would recombine inside the liver into active mutagenic compounds.

Next, Fin took out a drip needle, a metal needle with a valve to regulate how much liquid was let into the bloodstream. Given its namesake, it “dripped” medicines slowly over a period into a vein or artery.

The drip needle was inserted into Eiden’s right arm, as were most of the tools to his right side. The Trials would undoubtedly cause some reaction in the Forged arm, so leaving sensitive and delicate equipment far away was best.

Next came brass tubing, their insides coated with glass to avoid heavy metal contaminating the blood. The tube itself was not straight and instead a sort of organic and bent shape. Fin attached strings to the metal loops found around the tubing, anchoring it to the ceiling.

The tubing was connected first to the alchemical contraption and then to the drip needle. The machine itself was a large glass reservoir reinforced with brass and infused with circuits of copper. Various glass vacuum tubes and other containers wrought from glass lined the inside and outside of the machine. Pipes forged from brass snaked and circled the apparatus, giving it a feeling of methodical madness.

Finally, Fin took a fire-aspected mana-stone from his pocket, inserting it into the appropriate receptacle, starting the machine. It sounded like a queer teapot, boiling sounds and hissing steam rising from the exhaust pipes. The runes inside the cave quickly circulated the air, not letting the room turn muggy and humid in the slightest.

Fates give ye strength.

The Apprentice

Dreams blanketed Eiden’s mind. Remembrance of the past, ruminations of the present, and fabrications of the future. They mixed and intertwined, forming feverish depictions borne from his darkest fears.

A boy stood amongst piles of blacken ash. His skin was slick with blood, his fingers burned with brands as his nails turned into claws. His eyes were rusty red, and his insides hollow with the hunger.

He was a puppet possessed by an Aspect of the Arcane. His body no longer his but instead a conduit for a being of the higher planes.

He saw himself mangle his brother’s body, ripping it limb from limb. He cracked open his bones, sucking the marrow with an inhuman tongue as long as a forearm and as thin as a serpent’s. The hollowness dissipated from his guts, yet it was forever present in his thoughts.

More.

More.

More.

Seeing no end to the madness, he smeared the blood on the walls, projecting the insanity inside himself to the outside world. The smears almost formed patterns, seedlings that they were of the arcane, carrying with them the arcana of voracity incarnate. They emanated the will to devour all of existence like a snake, maw open wide like a chasm with no end.

What would he have to do to fill the void? The endless emptiness that ached for reprieve. Yet, he was not entirely a victim. He, too, was a predator, feeling the glee of the suffering wrought upon others. For, if he could not find peace, so could others not. He envied their middling pangs of hunger. Their ability to forgo the clawing from within. To extract any semblance of pleasure and suppress the twisting of his guts was all that he was.

The insanity of it all seemed to drown him. He couldn't hurt others. He couldn't. He held himself back, yet the whispers pushed him forward.

He couldn't hurt another, yet he was hungry. Strips of his muscles he carved from his body, flaying himself alive. They came down his gullet. Sickening disgust and relief churned his thoughts.

Was he fated to cannibalize himself? To eat his own flesh and bone and blood and fat until nothing remained? A serpent suckling upon its very tail.

The madness gave way to darkness. Time passed, yet he did not know how much.

He broke again, falling down the chasm that was himself.

He found himself drinking the lifeblood of his would-be lover. The girl of his dreams turned into the wraith of his nightmares.

Monster.

Monster.

Monster.

For that was what he was. A remembrance of evil, a hollow puppet possessed by a cruel god. Yet, seeing the husk of his loved one and the mangled flesh of his kin turned him to rage.

It built up, applying pressure to the threads that bound. His wrath was unending like the void of his insides, forever spilling out. If he could not escape the darkness from within, then he would turn it elsewhere. The thing that once took control of him would instead be turned into a puppet.

The wrath was vibrant red, a roaring pyre of hatred. It was a blade wrought from the blood of monsters to slay them in vengeful wake.

The chains snapped, echoing in the black.

The presence of hunger abated, fearful of the righteous wrath of a pitiful and pitiless monster.

The anger gave him strength, and then came the weakness as it left him. Now he was truly hollow and empty. No longer did the hunger fill him.

He was alone. A single speck of consciousness in the blissful dark.

In that moment of peaceful solitude came clarity. He could finally hear. Before, it was a mixture of silence and scream that made him deaf. Yet now, he could feel the vibrations of his heart. The sound came from inside himself, and remembrance struck. For monsters were memory incarnate. To remember the evil within. But also the good. For darkness and light only exist as long as they have each other.

Lucidity came painfully slow like lazy morning waves. The awareness built up like plaster upon a wall, layer by layer condensing atop itself until he became awake. He knew where he was and why.

He was Eiden, apprentice to Phineas Luciean. He was an exorcist-in-training undergoing the Trials of the Three.

He was no longer alone.

Eiden opened his eyes to the forests around the White Cliffs. It was the start of fall, leaves auburn in color. Yet, he knew he was no longer truly there. His body was far away, yet the mind remained attached.

The apprentice reached out with a mental hand. He pulled the veil of dreams from his sight. Reality shuddered as the air bent and ripped, leaving rends inside the realm of dreams. The illusory forest around him dissipated as the black of the awakened mind took hold.

His corporeal skin melted away to show his mental body. Hoarfrost covered his form as light of vibrant red pulsed throughout his argent veins. He could feel a change from before. His Center contained the breath of the world instead of the hunger of blood.

His irises shone silver, bright with power, and etched with defiance. As he saw himself reflected across the grey waters, he looked deep into his own eyes. The sound of metal striking metal could be faintly heard. Perhaps it was a hammer folding steel upon itself. Maybe it was bells heralding signs. He could not tell as the sounds themselves came from everywhere and nowhere at all. Nebulous and indistinct.

As Eiden spread out his awareness, he felt his power locked away. Parts of his spirit were sequestered from him, though most of it was his ability to control his aura and his ethereal muscles. Without either, he could only interact with the outside world in a roundabout manner. Fin was more than enough to suppress him should he become deranged.

Ethereal muscles aided much more than simple strength. They were also responsible for controlling etheric flow as ether-veins were lined with them to contract or expand. Pressure could be built up to direct ether into the aura, for example.

Seeing that it was about time to start, Eiden conjured a shade from his memories.

A book emerged from the grey waters of his mind, its surface not wet in the slightest as it continued its path, floating up to his hands. Leather-bound, its hide-skin cover was black as night and well-oiled. Its parchment was not dusty nor frayed in the slightest, instead white and etched with reflective ink.

Glanfath’s Mental Compendium I: The Cipher.

What is the difference between mind and spirit? What is the difference between psyche and soul? None, they are but one and the same. The great scholars before me have already found the answer. The mortal mind and spirit are represented by the rune of Mercurios or mercury. The immortal psyche and soul are bound to the rune of Sulfetus or sulphur.

One can think of all of them as an amalgam akin to the ocean meeting the coast. The soul is the ocean, a vast and deep reservoir. The spirit is the sea, enclosed and bound to the edges of the beach. The mind is what connects both, becoming a bridge of sorts. Yet, they form a congruent whole. A gestalt existence that cannot be entirely removed from one or the other. Even hollowborne retain but a smidgen of their eternal souls.

To truly understand the mind, let us delve into a particular type of magic: mentalism. All sorcerers awaken with command of their mental planes, not just that of their souls. And by that bit of fact, we can summarize that the mind bridges one to the eternal soul. No sorcerer can enter their sorcerous plane without first entering their mind. It is the gateway to the beyond.

To the lands of the Middle East, we can see how much sorcery is intertwined with mentalism. They are inseparable, and as such, mentalists and sorcerers are not divided into two different Paths. They are called Ciphers. Even arcanists are thrown into the big pot that is a Cipher. Theirs is a namesake that evokes mystery and puzzle. The word “cipher” comes from the Arahbic word for “zero;” however, it may also mean any number, which later turned into the concept of a secret method of writing. A cipher.

The name Cipher is twofold. The first is due to their technique of the Empty Vessel, a trance or modal mentalism based around perception and belief, not unlike the Heart of Stone. Both embody that which is both empty and full and thus creates a paradox. Such psychic interposition or superposition is then projected to the outside world, warping reality in accordance to the mind and soul. The technique can be used with all manner of mind, soul, or arcane magicks with fluid compatibility.

The second reason is the secrecy that comes from any and all organizations. Especially those that focus on a branch or Path of the Mystic Arts. Ciphers are also frontier researchers and manipulators of arcana, the invisible language that orders all of Creation. Such stratus is impossible to not have influenced their nomenclature.

The Ciphers of Arahbannia are analogous to modern mage guilds throughout Europa. They are a body of knowledge and camaraderie that serve to propel the understanding of the Paths forward.

The Soulmind & The Duality of Mortal Presence

The Soulmind is a technique cultivated and practiced by the Ciphers. It combines an Inner Gate with the mental plane itself, dissolving the boundary between the eternal and mortal minds. Yet, it doesn’t destroy the Gate. It instead shifts and manipulates it.

The Inner Gate is wrought from mental energy, psychos (sometimes called psykosis). It serves to regulate the introduction and flow of both animus and noesis. Mental energy is generally neutral as it is a product of equal parts aether and arcana. Animus is positive, and noesis is negative, both being attracted to each other. These energies of soul and body are the duality of mortal presence. An immortal core imbued unto a temporary vessel.

The energy of the body, animus, animates the entirety of a mortal vessel. If it is exhausted, it does not damage the eternal soul, instead only fraying the flesh. It is taken from the surrounding environment through the pneuma, or vital breath, and through the sustenance of bodily functions—eating and drinking.

Animus has an equal and “opposite” counterpart known as nekrosis. Both are aethers that are repelled by one another. Nekrosis seeks to function as animus does, yet it is a bane to its aetheric equivalent. Nekrosis annihilates animus as it does in turn. Yet, it is not entirely death mana as neither is animus actual life mana. They have to be distilled and changed to become these specific essence types. Animus may be turned into life ether which can sustain and empower any lifeform. Nekrosis, when ether-shifted, turns into death ether or life ether. It depends as higher stratus mana in the ethereal hold not a single aspect. They are nebulous and able to be transformed with ease.

The only differences one may see between nekrosis and animus are twofold. One is their polarity; consequently, they demonstrate anti-material and existential properties when exposed to each other. The result is a bit random as they both feed off of and destroy each other. Annihilation and assimilation in equal measure. The second difference is simply their affinity. Positive aether tends towards the aspect and arcana of creation, whereas negative aether tends towards the telos of oblivion. They are not entirely holders of either, yet theirs is a ratio of two-thirds main aspect and one-third minor aspect. In the case of nekrosis, it is two-thirds oblivion and one-third creation. Animus is the opposite. Both are aethers, yet they carry antithetical arcana.

Reversal techniques may be applied to either aetheric permutation to change its polarity. A reversal animatory technique would tend toward destruction. A reverse thanatoric technique would tilt in respect to the arcana of creation. These techniques are the easiest for any would-be mage to use and expands their repertoire of magicks. Infusing aether into a flame would cause it to heal. Yet, if one reverses its polarity, the fire would instead become even more dangerous. Most sorcerers do such a thing intuitively, yet spiritualists are a bit more limited. They can only enhance already existing elements as they do not have much control over arcana.

But, enough of that. Too much talk on aetheric mana might do more harm than good. To simplify, remember that we shall be discussing animus forward. I do not write this tome for liches and the undead, but instead for the living. This is not a primer on aethers, and so Vivaldi’s works would be better studied to gain insight into that sort of knowledge. We shall no longer refer to nekrosis and instead only focus on animus as the methodology of positive and negative energies would not work otherwise.

[Scribbles of all sorts continue onward onto the end of the page. Seems the ink was smeared, leaving much to the imagination. Turning toward the next page, the book continues its explanation on soul energy and the Soulmind technique.]

The energy of the soul, noesis, gathers knowledge and the “essence” of countless lifetimes. Entropy in the form of the Maelstrom keeps this arcana from forming into all-encompassing singularities, regulating them into individual surface souls. Souls can be seen as bulbous fungal fruits upon thin stocks of a mushroom. The Source Beyond the Veil is the interconnected web of mycelium underneath, forming the collective subconscious.

Souls feed upon knowledge and experience, and the body needs animus to continue gathering such specific sustenance. And thus, a cycle is formed where life turns to death, and death turns to life, ever-repeating. The Wheel is ever-shifting and churning.

The Soulmind takes control of the flow of mana, unbinding it from the Wheel for a momentary spec of time. By temporarily unraveling a Gate and letting it be immersed into both negative and positive energies, the control of either is possible. They recombine into psychos, allowing non-sorcerers to control arcana and the uninitiated to wrest authority over their aether.

But, the technique does not create a sorcerer. One does not Awaken their soul. The practitioner can only use what is already in the mortal vessel and not what lies in the Beyond. They gain no control over their eternal soul and cannot directly manipulate it.

Arcanists use the same base principles and mechanics to manipulate arcana yet differ in how. But, we shall not delve too deeply into that regard as parchment is not ocean water but a limited and ruthlessly expensive resource. Thank the gods that we possess trade routes with Edyr and their limitless supply of papyrus, for if not, this tome would not contain even a tenth of the breadth of knowledge it carries.

To initiate the Soulmind, one needs to enter the Empty Above the Waters. There, they need to employ a breathing technique and enter a mentalist’s trance, specifically one related to emptiness or receptiveness. Then, one must summon their Inner Gate. Afterwards, the mage must submerge the mental construct underneath the waters of the mind. Once submerged, a visualization of acid superimposed onto the greyen surface of the psyche shall dissolve the Gate. Then, they must wrestle control over the grey waters and the energies of the mental basin. Remember that both must be manipulated in conjunction. The practitioner must be half-inside their mental plane and half-awake to the real world.

That is the summary, and most of the process is easy and intuitive, except for two parts. The conjuring of a Gate and the manipulation of psychos. The Empty Vessel is made for such an endeavor, facilitating the unearthing of the bifrostian seal, but it is a secret modal technique. The Soulmind is widespread, and the Cipheric Order does not hinder the dissemination of such knowledge. For, the process itself is nothing special and is based around elementary principles and philosophy. The manipulation of psychos after one dissolves their Gate is simply a matter of time and practice. It is hard but does not require special knowledge.

And thus, we arrive at an impasse. How should one summon their Inner Seal? It is recommended to test and figure out the process by oneself with the aid of a modal mind trance, such as the Heart of Stone or the Frozen Wheel.

The Frozen Wheel

The Frozen Wheel is a modal mind technique. Modal means “mode” or “modus,” essentially a state of being and mind. Two modal techniques cannot be used at the same time within a single mind fragment or shard. To use two modals, one needs to split their psyche into different threads.

The Frozen Wheel is ancient and can be traced to the first phrenics. Though, the technique written upon this parchment shall be heavily modified for maximum compatibility with the Soulmind.

The Frozen Wheel is both parts spiritual as it is mental or psychic. First, the mind is prepared via receptive meditation in which the practitioner is empty of thoughts. The second part is the imbuement of ice or cold-attuned mana into the Mind’s Eye, also known as the upper spirit basin or the upper reservoir.

Aspecting any ethereal organ is a dangerous process. The spirit maintains its own homeostasis and balance. Thus, when one imposes a new state of being upon it, chaos ensues. One cannot stay in this modal technique for long, and the Frozen Wheel is to be used only for mere moments to conjure the Inner Gate.

The Frozen Wheel is a technique composed of two main parts: the imbuement and purging phases. A complete revolution or use of the modal is called a turn and is composed of these two phases.

The imbuement phase may be done by either introducing cold-aspected essence or by siphoning heat from the upper basin. Either process may be used depending on one’s skill and aptitudes.

The purging phase must be completed to avoid death and contamination of the mind. Without proper expelling of the frigid essence, mental disorders may manifest. Depression and the chills are one such example.

In between the two phases is when one must conjure their Inner Gate. Cold is an aspect of Order and thus, lends a mage better control over themselves. In between the bitter cold is where mastery resides. One needs to only balance the forces of death; entropy and negentropy.

The Apprentice

Eiden reread the tome for the umpteenth time. The first stage of the Frozen Wheel had already been concluded, the ice-pill he ingested having done so by itself. The consuming of cold mana instead of simply transmuting it from his personal anther was simple: energy conservation and arcane containment. The pill was purely cold mana with other mana types. He still had not much control over the minor arcana of his transmutations, so it was best he used a pure distillate rather than a contaminated permutation.

The more varied and diverse the aspects a mana type possessed, the more chaotically it would react. There was no telling what would happen if he used Winter's Breath Arcana on his mind. Even when it came to his body, he rarely exposed it to his arcanistries as they were heavily mutagenic. So, he instead only imbued these energies unto external projections, limited most of their effect. The only exception was his left arm that had been specifically Forged to resist arcane corruption.

The summoning of the Inner Gate was easy. Even without the pill, he could’ve done so. He was once a sorcerer, so the act came as naturally as breathing. Eiden knew he could've tried instead to open the Gate, yet he and Fin decided not to. It was best that he create robust foundations that could withstand sorcerous power.

The imbuement of frigid essence gave him a decent boost of control. It contained the arcana of order, after all.

A rumble came from the depths of his mind, ripples emanating from the grey waters. Roots of white and ashen marble breached the surface. An ancient and petrified oak stood in front of him, a vast and black chasm in its middle, gaping like the maw of a beast.

The darkness within the hollowed tree was not hollow. It wasn't the mundane kind of darkness. It was not the absence of light, but instead the substance of something eld and elder.

Eiden’s irises shone argent white, peeling away the darkness; a seal of obsidian stone stood inside the gargantuan oak, its size large enough to eclipse most houses.

White and reflective scripture encircled the gate, unique to the individual soul that was his. A tree stood in its middle, branches holding different spheres: domains and arcanums that his eternal mind had gathered.

A tree inside a tree. How fitting.

A single line went down the whole seal, dividing left from right in a rapturous rent. Ordos was engraved upon the largest branch in the right, and Kaos was etched upon its counterpart in the left. Smaller branches carried minor aspects, each with their own histories. Bleidhe, Serafos, Aeros. The words were inscribed in Vitaen script, yet each came from a different original tongue. Bleidhe, or blood, came from the duchies of the Middle Kingdoms, the Duitisc language. Serafos, or flame, came from Ancient Cyroshi. And finally, Aeros, or wind, came from High Akaen. The spheres themselves carried both ripe arcanums and the seedlings for future sorcerous fruit.

A tree of life and knowledge—Kabbalah—the Seal of Gnosis and Animosis.

Eiden’s eyes, both sclera and iris, turned into metal, his mortal soul taking sway. Only his pupils were left untouched, black pinpricks in a sea shining the sheen of cold steel.

The core of the soul was black, and if the eyes were the windows into its essence, then they too would reflect such a truth. At least, that was what Eiden surmised. When in the mental realm, his sight was omniscient, seeing both through his own perspective and that of the surrounding black.

Slowly, darkness bled into the edges of the grey sclera, turning it into the oily black of edraic iron and corrupted bismuth. Bright, stark light crept over his irises, starting from the outer edges of his pupil. White met black in a balance of opposing forces. A grey border of argent encircled his iris, the dividing line between his dual nature.

The seal resonated in kind and kith. The left side burned with ruby flame as the right shone sapphire. The rapturous divide emanated amaranth light the color of sizzling amethysts. Eiden felt the Call of Knowledge flood into his mind, beckoning him to open the seal. Whispers both comforting and yet alien assailed his consciousness.

No.

The haze over his mind lessened but didn’t entirely dissipate. Even with armor wrought of psychic steel, acid still corroded the surface of the psyche.

Eiden imagined his own mind as the acid instead, conjuring forth the reality with pure will alone. The grey waters bubbled, eating away at the petrified oak as it ebbed into the tithe of the mind.

The Gate shone brighter still, the immortal mind resisting his meddling. Yet, it was weak. His psyche had been tempered in trials and tribulations ever since his Awakening. Such a simple burst of sorcerous power wasn’t enough to melt the steel that was his mortal soul. Defiance was his essence, and the infinite iterations of the eld were not a match. They were discordant as each life had its own voice and experience. This, in turn, caused the noetic essence to become corrosive as it tried to imprint vastly different consciousnesses over his own. Yet, this strength turned into a weakness if a single mortal soul was in turn Awakened. The opposing forces balanced each other for a moment before the focused burst of his animus won.

The Inner Gate drowned away, leaving behind a single branch breaching the waters. Its cold and ashen marble-white bark left undissolved. A purple fruit hung in its petrified digits.

The bulbous sphere was made of hundreds of orbs bound by tight skin. Amarathean light emanated from the core of the fruit, refracting off each to give it a strange and queer glow.

Doomlust.

A single thought brought him towards the psychein fruit. Eiden brought it up to his lips, taking a large bite. The taste was otherworldly, divine even, and incomparable to any mortal or mundane food. There was nothing even close enough for him to draw an analogue or parallel to.

Ambrosia.

Intuitive and unspoken knowledge flooded him as noesis and animus intertwined into a single amalgam. Psykosis—the essence of divine and holy fever. It was an apt description. Holy originated from the duistic word for “whole,” as both shared a common root. Psykosis was the whole, the mixture of animus and noesis into a congruent and singular existence.

It was like the scales were lifted from his sight, complete command over his mind being bestowed upon him. His irises shone with amaranth madness that was both hot and cold; deranged and astute; nebulous and sure. A paradox of being ensued as the two halves of mortal duality were not meant to commingle. Yet even under the plight of power greater than himself, Eiden resisted. He let go of the intoxicating nectar and instead focused on what he needed to do:

Create a mental construct for his body. The Trials would allow him to further add in mutagens to enhance himself. But, as the sailor needed a vessel, so too did he need a way to store the mutagens.

An ark of man he would become, and so he needed proper wood to construct the vessel of life.

Eiden used the obsidian seal as a template for the mutagen vessel. After all, it was a containment construct, and one of its many names was the tree of life.

The apprentice sat down atop the grey waters, meditating upon his personal meaning of the body. The barren branch stood before him, slowly unraveling into dust and ash and blowing away under nonexistent wind into the black.

What is the body?

An anatomical study of the human body appeared in his mind’s eye. Yet, it did not resonate with him.

What is the body?

Alchemical treatises were conjured from the recesses of his mind. The symbol for salt, a circle with a horizontal line, branded itself into his consciousness. Yet, it felt forced and foreign. There was a universal truth in that glyph, but that was not what he looked for. It was not his quarry to chase. Eiden hunted for a personal truth, one individual to himself.

What is the body?

The imbuement of will into the question caused his mental form to weigh like an Atlassian stone. On his shoulders was the weight of the world, causing him to drift and ebb into the waters of his mind. Darkness came around him even with his eyes opened. The water had no temperature, no warmth, and no cold. It felt no different than the nonexistent air of the mental plane above.

His was the will of stone and steel. He condensed it onto himself, like the folding metal over and over. He descended deeper unto the abyss.

From the darkness came light.

Images flooded his mind’s eye. They overlapped each other, superimposed on the sight of his imagination. This left an outline, a theme underneath the many dreams.

A tree.

A branch.

An extension.

The final interpretation rang true, the sound of a resonating bell coming from all around him. His will flagged, the weight lessening and causing his mental form to float to the surface.

He drew breath like a drowned man as he clawed out of the grey murkiness of the mind. In his wake came roots the color of scarlet. They proceeded to intertwine and recreate veins. In some places, the threads overlapped until they formed organs. Layer upon layer was created until a carnelian body was formed.

It was the same as himself, only in shades of red. The skin was wholly transparent, letting Eiden see the beat of his own heart and the outlines of his internal organs.

But, he was not done. He had created the mental construct for his body, and now he needed a method to imbue mutagens.

Eiden’s mental form of ice changed, his hands transfiguring into claws. He used the sharp implements to gouge out nodes inside the construct. Each one was created at natural convergence points in the body and spirit. The rhyme and reason he based upon the Qyrazaelean Path of the Astrahadi. They were holy warriors spliced with various flesh runes to gain power in between a conjuror and sorcerer.

Nine major mutagen slots were formed in his spine. Three corresponding to each basin. Lesser mutagen slots were created in each organ, one for each as well. The major nodes, or chakras, were for the three major systems of his bodies: the Center, which encapsulated the digestion tract and the various internal organs. The Heart, which contained the circulatory system, be it of blood or the lymphatic ducts. And finally, the Mind, which included the nervous system as a whole, be it central or peripheral.

In summary, each individual organ system had its own unique mutagen node, and each basin had three central nodes. Central nodes would be general changes to both body and spirit, whereas minor nodes were specific changes.

The first step on his end was done, and so Eiden reached out with his mindsight. Somewhere in the mental realm, he felt the weight of Fin’s consciousness. He quested for it, tentatively extending an empathetic tendril.

The tendril was accepted, a link forming between the two.

[I’m done. I did it, Fin. I did it.]

The communication was done through emotions and unspoken knowledge instead of the actual words. It let Fin understand him in a way unlike any other. So did it allow Eiden to perceive his mentor truthfully in turn. It was not simple mind projection where he could spout lies like a tainted spring.

Only truth could be uttered.

[I am glad, lad. My happiness and pride in you knows no bounds.]