220. Unto the Gloam

  [REVOLVER Spell: YOUR NAME]

  [Health Reserved: 50%]

  [Mana Reserved: 50%]

  [Cartridge Reserved: 50%]

  [Description: This bullet has your name on it. Chamber Three imbuement. Choose and invoke one Pathsight-verified designation at the turn of a circadian cycle. Once armed, the first Cartridge fired out of Chamber Three will be used to [Avow] the Wayfarer’s chosen intent. Successful [Avowment] incurs resource constraints as stated above, which remain in place until the status is removed.]

  [Addendum [AVOWED]: All damage to the target is doubled and receives 50% Primal conversion regardless of primary damage source. [Avowed] is removed 1) at the end of the circadian cycle, 2) when the Wayfarer has died, or 3) when the target has been smited.]

  ***

  The Upheavers’ paths split then merged again, now with a second Rite of Passage under their belts. Their respective Lotuses expelled them unceremoniously, out of the Gloaming mists and into…

  The Gloam proper. The differences—visual, tactile, and Pathsighted—were immediately noticeable. Here, the low canopy of skyveils had made way for purple fog. A foamy mixture of the Realm-connecting waterfall with the soft umber of Tidereign’s most natural sky.

  It made for poor visibility all around, but Serac didn’t terribly mind. Certainly preferred it to getting [Unmoored] with every passing second. Having confirmed they were out of danger, the Upheavers took stock of each other and what lay ahead.

  If Serac had thought her and Renna’s tale of Dragon-taming to be fantastical, it was nothing compared to Zacko’s and Oriole’s… well, she didn’t quite understand what exactly they went through. The important thing was they’d come out of it in one piece and seemed to have quite enjoyed themselves. A part of her was slightly envious she’d missed out on… well, whatever it was she’d missed out on.

  For better or worse, Serac felt a distinct shift in the party’s collective mood. Fantastical or inexplicable though they might’ve been, the Rites had been in one way or another transformative for all who’d Passed them. Serac now took a moment to observe said effects on each of her companions.

  Zacko tried to act like his usual, breezy self, but he couldn’t fool a partner of two ascensions and three Realms. Eyebrows flatter and jaw tighter than usual, he looked contemplative, restless, maybe even a little fixated. His free-flowing body of water had apparently hit upon a snag along its NINEFOLD currents.

  Oriole, ginger face flush with residual excitement as he regaled the party with his ‘mech’-borne exploits, nonetheless seemed distracted by something distant and inaccessible. His triangular ears twitched incessantly, reacting to every subtle shift in the environment, imagined or otherwise. Occasionally, he’d turn and sniff the air he’d already left behind. Not very nose-forward of him, at least in Serac’s opinion.

  Unlike the boys, Renna seemed settled and centered. Not a ripple off from her usual pink, mellow, and observant self. Only to be expected, perhaps, considering she’d already done quite a bit of soul-searching in recent months. The Yaksha might not be due another crisis of faith for some time yet. In which case, more power to her.

  Where did that leave Serac? The truth was she didn’t quite know. Her recent challenges had offered much insight into ‘taming’ the VOIDLING inside her. Did that mean she too had finished her soul-searching? What was she meant to find at the end of her search anyway? Who was she?

  Somewhere inside a half-remembered dream, a lone Rakshasa sat with his back to her, hugging his knees. He made to turn around and face her, but then—

  “Alright, gang.” Serac rose to her feet with forced cheer. “We’ve been plenty heroic so far, but hopefully, there’s more where that came from. Let’s see if the Keeper’s willing to meet us, now that we’ve Passed two of these Rites.”

  Nowhere else to go but up. Unto the Gloam the Wayfarers marched, guided only by the natural instinct to climb, discover, conquer. Before long, the environment did shift in earnest, as if to back the party in their honest pursuit.

  “Them umber shades again,” Zacko was the first to put discovery into words.

  Fast approaching Tidereign’s highest peak, the Upheavers found themselves in rarefied air—and in more ways than one. Serac clocked it immediately. One glance at the latest batch of umber shades told her they trod a different Path from all the city-dwellers between the gates.

  A muscular Tiryaga hefted an enormous axe on one shoulder. A svelte Mriga kept one finger over the trigger of a hunting rifle. The figures walked as equals—shoulder to shoulder—upon the foggy steps to the Realm’s peak. They were Wayfarers: rivals and companions on Paths both shared and secret.

  “Memories of ascension,” Renna murmured meaningfully, but didn’t elaborate. A collective silence fell over the party again, as each member took from the shades what they would. Perhaps of special note, Oriole lingered a little more wistfully than the others, his nose once again ‘looking back’ before turning resolutely onto the climb.

  Silent shades of ancient Wayfarers guided the Upheavers through the fog. The party’s steps grew as sure and solid as the obsidian slabs at their feet. Yet, the higher elevation brought with it more changes to the ‘scenery’.

  Two separate groups now knelt upon the steps, drawing a clear line between themselves. Mrigas on one side and Tiryagas on the other.

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  Serac shivered with unnamed foreboding. The only thing more disturbing than these Wayfarers giving up on their climb partway was their apparent division. Up to now, Twicereign had been a city where creatures of Day and Night co-mingled and elevated one another. Yet here, just before the most adventurous of said creatures could ascend to the next Realm, that rigid partitioning reared its ugly head.

  What had caused it? Serac climbed the empty footpath that served as a Day-Night divide, keeping an apprehensive eye out for the answer. She soon found it… and nearly dropped to her knees herself.

  One figure stood above all other Wayfarers. Neither Mriga nor Tiryaga, nor both. It wasn’t even umber in shade—its shadows much darker, much less defined, much more nothing.

  It was VOIDLING.

  Others might mistake it for something else, argue over the changed details or the questionable authenticity. But its Oathkeeper couldn’t, must not. Serac had a sacred, [Oathbound] duty to recognize, acknowledge, and own the history inherent to her Oathborn—however ancient, murky, and stomach-turning though it might be.

  As Serac did her utmost to steady her breathing and still her heartbeats, the eyeless visage of VOIDLING stared back at her. In invitation? Mockery? Recognition? The inverse or the obverse? Regardless, it held out a polemace in one slack arm, angled unto the kneeling horde in invitation, mockery, and domination.

  “Serac, is that—” Oriole began to ask, then stopped as soon as he saw her expression. Somewhere off to the side, Renna studied her with curious, wide-set eyes. Even Zacko, the only party member without first-hand experience with VOIDLING, caught on quickly enough, keeping eyebrows flat and mouth shut.

  Normally, Serac would look to her friends for comfort and wisdom in moments of weakness and uncertainty. But not now. Right now, she hated the eyes of strangers boring into her inner soul—her darkness, her void, her sins.

  Is this what the Upheaval was about? She wondered weakly, uncertainly to herself. Coming into a place that was doing just fine for itself, then trampling it in your own image? Are the Devas right to hunt me down? All this time, I’ve called myself the Upheaver as a point of pride and honor, when maybe there’s nothing honorable about it at all…

  Soul-search all you want. A new crisis of faith was always just around the corner. Yet, crisis or no, there was naught for young and living Wayfarers to do other than climb on. So, climb on Serac did. And the rest of… the Upheavers… followed suit.

  Soon as she cleared the groups of Mrigas and Tiryagas, Serac veered off to one side, giving the still image of VOIDLING as wide a berth as possible. It was no use. As she climbed past the tableau altogether, her partial Circlet burned aflash. In mockery, in invitation, in see-you-again.

  The Upheavers climbed on, ever unto the all-enfolding Gloam. Higher and higher, the umber shades thinned out into wisps. The end of a forgotten chapter and the beginning of a forgettable one. A gap in history between what had been and what could never be taken back.

  [TIDEWATCH: One hour remains in the current cycle.]

  Serac, eyes drooping and legs flagging on a monotonous climb, jolted awake from the unexpected message. She’d been so busy city-touring, Rites-Passing, and self-questioning she’d forgotten all about [Tidewatch] and the old world order that governed Twicereign. The party had been traveling for a long while, and perhaps it was time to set up shelter. Serac looked ahead into the purple fog, hoping for any part of its indistinguishable foam to present as a likely candidate.

  To her surprise and gratitude, one part did. One whole clearing, in fact. A section of fog-free obsidian was centerpieced by an enormous, lotus-white Hubstation, its provenance readily illustrated by the umber, meditating shades all around it.

  “Well, guess enough of them Twicereigners made it up here before they succumbed to… whatever that was back there.” Zacko took the opportunity for a wry remark, iffy moods be damned. “Shall we call it a Night? Day? Whatever the fuck? Dunno about you lot, but I smell another boss encounter coming. Maybe our biggest one yet.”

  Tired nods and murmurs all around. With practiced efficiency, the Upheavers took turns reconstituting and setting up camp. Serac herself had a whopping [142,919 ?] to spend, which she put into (only!) three more points of [Integrity], intuiting its importance in the battles and Rites to come.

  Healed, leveled, fed, but exhausted, the Upheavers crowded into Ashvanaga for bedtime. There were doubts as to the relevance of the skyveils this high up in the city, as well as concerns about the ‘rules’ regarding sleep beneath said veils. In any case, the cozy warmth of a castle cabin was much preferred to cold, alien obsidian. As for the viability of sleep, Zacko demonstrated it in no time, snoring loudly just as soon as his head touched Zacko’s Corner.

  “I guess there’s no denying it,” a wide-eyed Oriole observed, mostly to himself. “All this time, we Duskpoolers have prayed to a Keeper we knew nothing about.”

  Not just you Duskpoolers, Serac wanted to say, as if it would be any comfort. She kept her mouth shut, deciding it wouldn’t. She then fought against her own overwhelming sleep-lust to squeeze in one more briefing before the turn of the cycle.

  “It’s time, Serac,” Trippy needlessly prompted. “Have you decided on a [Name]?”

  Serac sighed, inwardly so as not to worry her companions. Yes. Her first circadian cycle since unlocking [Your Name] was finally coming to an end. It was time to choose and invoke a designation, if she meant to put her new spell to use.

  But who? She demanded. Weak, uncertain, and petulant because of it. We don’t know what’s waiting for us beyond the fog. You don’t expect me to just make up a name, do you?

  “I don’t,” Trippy replied calmly, “because I believe you do have a name in mind. A soul you’ve already met, and expect to meet again in the very near future. Whether as friend or foe, who’s to say? Regardless, there’s no reason not to err on the side of caution.”

  Serac could think of plenty of reasons. Starting with the fact she absolutely loathed the idea of meeting said soul as foe. But she had to accept Trippy was, once again, right. The signs had been there, and she’d be a fool to ignore them, whether she liked it or not.

  It’s less what you are and more what you’ve done. Or maybe it’s where you’ve been. What we felt the other Night was a single entity, whereas this… gives off multiple distinct signatures.

  Serac sighed again, nearly out loud before she caught herself. She then surreptitiously gripped REVOLVER and whispered a name she knew well, hoping no one would hear. Luckily, both Oriole and Renna too had fallen asleep, he with a twitchy, purring snore and her with ripple-fast stillness.

  But someone did, inevitably, hear her. And they let her know about it, too. With an impish, self-satisfied cackle.

  [Chamber Three armed: YOUR NAME]

  Serac shut her eyes tight against the message, but Pathsight cared naught what she did or didn’t want to see. Luckily, it did care about its duties, which soon bid them overwrite the old with the new.

  [TIDEWATCH: Your OATH remains affirmed. The current cycle has ended. A new cycle begins. You now have 24 hours to reaffirm your OATH.]

  That was one more question answered, but it did little to calm Serac. She did her utmost to steady her breathing and still her heartbeats… and eventually managed to fall asleep. She dreamed of moonlit blades and sunbaked fur—and of the blood caked onto both.

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