(Arc 1) 1: The End of Your World. The Beginning of Mine. (Patreon)

The Ashen Realm. Year 3744 of the Age of Realms.

Primordial Ekanai would live again.

They called him the Reaper, but as he crossed the gate between realms, Ekanai feared it was his own life that  would be reaped in this world of volcanoes and ash. Not in the warmth  of his home, surrounded by family and fellow warriors, but alone, in a  rocky wasteland of jagged peaks and barren plains smothered by soot.

Crowning this  blighted landscape stood a jungle of dark and sinister towers that  pierced the sky, disappearing into distant lightning clouds that raged  eternally.

The ruined city of the gods.

Fabled, rumored, but never seen. Because no one who laid eyes on it returned to tell the tale.

Fate had not been kind to the city of spires. For millennia, it remained abandoned—a mausoleum of an era long forgotten.

The Reaper was beginning to understand why.

The prana was thick in  this realm, and it grew heavier the deeper he went. It corrupted his  body like ink bleeding through paper, suffocating him with each step he  took.

Whatever tragedy had befallen the gods had also corrupted the very air, rendering it toxic to life.

Even so,  Ekanai had not wasted lifetimes seeking this place only to turn back  now. He persisted doggedly on, edging closer and closer to death’s door.

And then there were the wolves.

Pure black and  with flames of prana that burned off their hides, their minds had  broken long ago. No longer capable of intelligent thought, they swarmed  Ekanai, driven only by instinct and addled hatred.

Not just one, or even a dozen. Hundreds.

To a Primordial, they were merely insects.

Ekanai  silenced the pain that ravaged his body and channeled his prana to the  eight-spoked tattoo on his chest. The white symbol of the Akh Nara  flared to life, powering his spell. Clarity gave him a glimpse into the next few seconds—two Ash Wolves approaching from behind.

He dodged, but  his boots caught in the shin-deep ash. The Reaper allowed himself to  fall… and avoided a razor-sharp paw that would’ve decapitated him. Dance of the Shadow Demon activated, and instead of crashing into the ground, he sunk into the depths of his own shadow.

An instant  later, his katar dagger’s blade gleamed as Ekanai materialized from  beneath the wolf, piercing its heart as cleanly as splitting water.

The other Ash  Wolf fared no better. A razor-sharp throwing disk between its eyes ended  the beast even before its body hit the ground.

He placed his  soot-blackened boot on the corpse’s tough hide, eyeing the beasts that  circled him. His calloused, leathery fingers grasped his throwing disk,  and with a firm tug, dislodged his trusty friend.

Then the poisonous prana finally took effect.

The Reaper may  have earned his title, but time was unrelenting. As his heart seized  and his knees buckled and agony ripped through his body, Ekanai was no  different from any mortal at the end of their life.

With a vain hope, Ekanai’s fingers grazed the symbol on his chest, which now glowed with the healing power of Yuma’s Embrace.  But even his most powerful healing magic failed against such extensive  damage. Unable to endure the onslaught of magical pressure, his blood  vessels ruptured, poisoned by pitch black prana.

The pain had  distracted him; Ekanai failed to notice a nearby beast before its bladed  limb slipped through his back and out of his chest. His vision blurred…  But pain was nothing to him. He thrived in pain. He consumed it.

The Primordial  forced himself to his feet. A slice of his prana empowered blade  bisected the beast that had injured him. The same prana density that was  killing him supercharged Yuma’s Embrace, healing his stab wound in moments.

Step after step, he inched closer to the lost city through sheer force of will. He was so frustratingly close. Closer than any prior incarnation had ever come. But the Ash refused to be overcome.

He fell to his knees, his body no longer obeying him. For the first time in decades, he felt the icy grip of fear.

The Reaper had  wriggled free from the bony fingers of death too many times to worry  about his own life. But there were other, darker terrors he feared more.  He’d seen the spatial ruptures himself—had seen them corrupt the very  fabric of reality.

There was  nothing he could do against it. To do so was to defy Fate itself, and  only the symbol on his chest possessed such might. But it was  incomplete.

The tattoo yearned for the almighty power that lay deep within the city, buried under rubble and time.

Ekanai pressed  his fingers against the tattoo. With each rebirth, the Primordial’s  existence faded. His sense of purpose, once thick like blood, had  diluted to water. If his successor failed to unlock the full potential  of the tattoo, then that would be the true end.

Not just for him, but for all.

Primordial Ekanai would live again. But his next incarnation would be the last.

Human Realm. Hiranya Kingdom. Five Hundred Years Later…

Vir tiptoed  across the rickety wooden floorboards of his log cabin’s kitchen in the  predawn darkness. With a single candle for illumination, he picked out a  small log from a firewood bin, then reached into the cooler.

It wasn’t just the chill of the Magic Cold orb  that sent shivers up his spine as he rummaged around for a banana;  today was his fifteenth birthday—the last possible day for him to  manifest a magical affinity. Today, he’d learn whether he was destined  for greatness or doomed to mediocrity.

He knew the chances were beyond slim—not after a lifetime without a drop of magic—but hope was a difficult flame to douse.

Tiptoeing back  to the kitchen, Vir slipped the log into their clay stove. The oat  porridge bubbled shortly thereafter, reminding him to give it a few  stirs.

He gave the  porridge a quick taste. “That oughta do it,” he whispered, careful not  to wake his father. But Rudvik’s loud snores told him there was little  risk of that; the big man slept as hard as he worked.

Transferring  the sweet-smelling meal to a wooden bowl, he placed it on the dining  table alongside the banana, leaving the stove’s door open to radiate  heat back into the cabin.

Vir basked in  its warmth, but only for a moment. Grabbing his rucksack, he pinched off  the flame, then felt his way to the door. Even from here, he could feel  the bone-chilling draft from outside.

He carefully donned his shoes, ensuring he didn’t enlarge the holes that riddled the worn fabric.

“Have a great  day at work, father,” Vir whispered under his breath. There would be no  breakfast for him—the recent famine hadn't been easy on the village, and  Rudvik needed the food more than he did.

The biting  cold hit the young man with the weight of a woodchopper’s ax, and his  worn shirt and frayed pants did little to protect him. He scarcely  noticed, all thoughts occupied with his upcoming magic aptitude test.

“Neel!” he whispered. “Time to go, boy!”

The droopy-eared brown-and-white bandy stepped out of its warm wooden kennel and nuzzled him.

“Atta boy. We’ve got a big day today, so let’s hop to it!”

Vir had learned long ago that the best way to get warm was to get moving, so he did exactly that.

Brij was  rather large for a village, almost the size of a small town, and Vir’s  home sat on its outskirts. The village itself was nothing to look at,  but the Godshollow? Now that was a different story. The vast ancient forest felt like another realm to Vir, full of wonder and danger.

A solid ten  minutes of walking past farms on a muddy dirt road put him onto the  central village streets with its many spider web-like alleyways. The  square clay buildings grew taller and more dense as he approached the  village’s center where his destination—the temple—was located.

“You ready,  boy?” He said, turning over the hourglass in his pocket. A makeshift  thing that was always on the verge of falling apart.

Neel barked and wagged his tail.

He took a deep  breath and sped up. Sweat flew from Vir’s brow as he bounded from crate  to barrel to pole, leaping his way through the narrow alleys with deft  footwork beyond his fifteen years of age.

Dawn was less than an hour away, and the sky had brightened with a beautiful blue glow. The village of Brij couldn’t afford Magic Lamp streetlights, but the occasional Magic Candle orb  illuminated the path well enough; his night vision had always been  better than the village kids. Especially useful for avoiding the many  piles of Ash’va dung that littered the alleyway. Or running away from  Camas and his lackeys.

Vir avoided the problem entirely—streets were too risky. He could do better.

This was the  best part of his morning routine. Each day, he’d time himself through  the obstacle course he’d fashioned along his route, always trying to  push his limits. With every attempt, he iterated, refined, and optimized  his handholds and his speed, ever in pursuit of that next morsel of  time. In pursuit of safety from those who sought to do him harm.

For Vir, this wasn’t a hobby, or something he did out of boredom. It was a survival skill.

He jumped onto  a barrel and leaped off, grabbing onto a horizontal pole that jutted  out above the alley. Using his momentum, he swung up onto the roof of a  nearby trellis and sprinted over the narrow wooden beams with perfect  balance.

From here, he  had a few options. He could either hop across the balconies on the  second floor of the alley, or he could push even higher to the rooftops.  The rooftops were easier, but the balconies were shorter. Of course, he  chose the latter.

Each balcony  had a small railing that served as his balancing beam. He jumped from  one to the other, then across the alley to the other side, then back  again. With his heart pumping full blast, all thoughts of the morning  chill were forgotten.

He leaped for the final rod… and came up short.

The cool  nighttime breeze had encouraged him to push just a little harder than  usual, but his frail, malnourished body could only give so much. His leg  buckled under the strain of his acrobatics, sending him tumbling onto  hard clay.

Vir tried to roll to carry his momentum, but his body just wouldn’t listen. He hit the ground hard, landing on his shoulder.

A quick check  showed he was was thankfully only bruised, and not broken.The throbbing  pain, while distracting, would soon subside.

So much for breaking my record, he thought angrily, heaving from the exertion. As skilled as he was,  the bullies were better fed and had numbers on their side. He simply  couldn’t afford these mistakes.

Vir squeezed  his eyes shut and touched the eight-spoked tattoo on his chest while he  caught his breath—an unconscious habit he’d developed at an early age.  He’d been born with the white tattoo, but he’d never known what it  signified.

He treasured  it nonetheless. The symbol was beautiful in the way that only geometric  iconography could manage—eight spokes, eight white dots perfectly  positioned between, and in the center, three overlapping circles, all  joined by a triangle. It was one of the few bodily traits he was proud  of.

Neel, not  finding his master, turned and barked from up ahead before running back.  His droopy-eared friend barked at him in frustration.

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t look at me like that, boy!”

Neel sat on  his haunches, eyeing his master with expectation. “Nope. No treats for  beating me,” he said, narrowing his eyes. The bandy drooped its muzzle  and whimpered, but Vir knew better than to give in to Neel’s well-honed  begging.

“I know, I know! Can’t be late. Not today.”

With his  energy mustered, the young man set out once again. But just as he’d  gained some speed, a shadow sprung from the darkness, moving swiftly  into the alley.

“Halt!” The black-robed figure said, extending its arms.

Neel barked incessantly, intent on protecting his master.

“Down, boy,” Vir commanded, grabbing the bandy’s collar as he backed away from the stranger. “Who’re you?”

“A name? This one needs no  name,” said the mysterious man. He flung back his black hood, revealing  a wrinkled, bald scalp and a scrawny face that just screamed bandit.

Having  determined that the man was obviously not right in the head, Vir turned  tail, but the man’s hand shot forth and clutched his arm in a death  grip.

“Be calm, young one. I am not the one you should fear. He is out there,” the man said as his eyes rolled in their sockets.

Creep, Vir thought, eyeing the filthy, emaciated man in black. Gotta get out of here!

But even with Neel biting the man’s patchwork robe, he seemed utterly unfazed.

“What might a young one like you be doing up and about at this hour, hmm? I wonder if you are up to no good?”

“Real rich, coming from someone as suspicious as you.”

To free himself, he’d need an edge. The only way he’d find one was with a cool head on his shoulders.

Deep breaths, Vir, he told himself. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

With his mind  working again, he did what he did best—think and analyze. The stranger  had a firm grip on his arm. He wasn’t going to break it without a lot of  force, and the man was bigger than him, so he’d need to get creative.  There were a few options available to him, but for now, he decided to  stall for time. Easy enough, thanks to the cultist’s ramblings.

“Tell me, have you seen him, child?”

“The heck are you talking about? Who are you? I don’t recognize your face.”

“Oh, be still, child. For I too am a child, like you. A Child of the Ash.”

Vir went very still. Head priest Apramor had warned of these cultists, the Children of Ash, long ago. “You worship the Ashen Realm,” he whispered.

“No!” the cultist yelled, sending spittle flying onto his face. “The Ash merely contains the One.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “The one we worship lurks within its hallowed depths. Consuming. Growing. With each passing moment, it becomes a more perfect god. We dare not speak its name.”

Someone had to  have heard Neel’s barking. Just a little longer and somebody would show  up, he was sure of it. He just had to keep stalling the cultist.

Vir tried  again to pull away from the cultist’s grip… and to his surprise, he  succeeded. It was as if the man had forgotten about his existence, which  was perfectly fine by him. But just as soon as he’d broken free, the  man reestablished his grip on Vir’s arm.

“Have you seen him, child?” Not bothering to wait for his answer, the cultist continued, “Have you come across the Primordial? Answer me!”

“I don’t even know who that is, you grakking chal!”

Vir had hoped  that Neel’s incessant barking would’ve woken up the neighborhood, but no  help was forthcoming. It was as if they’d shuttered their doors and  pretended like nothing was happening. He realized it’d be up to him to  get free.

Luckily, he had a few tricks up his sleeve.

The Child of  Ash continued rambling, “The Primordial will bring the End of Realms!  Find him. Purge him! Burn him to Ash! If you see him, you must let us  know! You. Yes~! Those red eyes. Yes! You are an odd one!”

You’re one to talk! Vir finally found the opening he needed.

“Join us! I shall bring you to the Blessed Chosen. Together we shall join with the Prana Swarm, the one true god!”

No thanks! He lowered himself, but slowly. He didn’t want to attract the cultist’s attention.

“Yes… Yes! Red Eyes, you belong with us!”

Uh, nooope. I really, really don’t.

“My name… is Ekavir!”

Vir crouched  down and jumped, kicking off of the cultist’s chest to propel himself  into a perfect backflip. What he’d needed was leverage to overpower the  stronger man’s grip. If his muscles couldn’t do that, then he’d use his  weight instead.

His years of  leaping and jumping paid off. Vir tore free of the man’s grip, and this  time, he didn’t hesitate. He ducked and sprinted past the man.

Neel ceased  his barking and caught up. Together, the pair blitzed through the alley  faster than ever before. Fear and the will to survive kept Vir running  when he’d normally have collapsed from exhaustion. He took every turn he  could to throw off his pursuer, doing everything he could to quieten  his footsteps.

“Oh grak,”  he muttered, finally realizing his mistake. In his desperation, he’d  forgotten about his greatest advantage. Shaking his head, he jumped onto  a box and reached for a horizontal pole.

For the second  time that morning, he missed, but this time he managed to break his  fall with a roll. Unfortunately, he rolled right into a clay urn,  shattering it.

The sound felt like it carried through the entire village, and Vir froze, listening.

Clack clack clack. The cultist’s footsteps grew louder and louder.

Neel barked again, jolting Vir out of his freeze.

He tried  again, this time throwing all he had into his legs. He caught the bar,  then vaulted himself up onto a balcony and climbed up to a flat rooftop.

Let’s see if he can follow us here.

Vir didn’t  stick around to find out. He leaped from rooftop to rooftop, gaining as  much distance as he could. He stopped only when his body could go no  further.

Neel took a  slightly different route, but caught up with his master in no time.  Years of accompanying its master had taught the beast to climb up  things—a feat that went unmatched by the other bandies.

“I hate! Hate… hate… hate!” Vir cursed between panting breaths. If only I wasn’t so weak!

Heaving on all  fours against the rooftop, he took deep breaths to calm his beating  heart. No matter how much he worked out, no matter how much effort he  put in, his body remained frail, his stamina weak. Over the years, he’d  realized that there was something wrong with his body… Like his energy  was being somehow drained, and it wasn’t just the single meal he ate  each day.

Neel sat on his haunches, gloating, with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Vir thought  about descending and trying the heavy doors to the temple, but he knew  they would be locked. He’d never wished for the security of the holy  place’s sturdy walls more than he did at that moment.

“Stay sharp, Neel. The man’s still out there,” Vir said to the bandy. He wasted his breath—not like Neel could understand him.

Vir’s fingers  grazed the white tattoo on his chest as he strained to listen to the  echoes of the cultist’s footsteps. Every time they grew louder, he  readied himself to flee.

Neel continued to gloat.

“Sure, must’ve been easy for you,”  he said, frowning at the droopy-looking bandy. “You’re not the one who  can’t run thirty paces without keeling over. But see if the other kids  can backflip like I can.”

Neel whimpered.

“Uh, huh. Thought so.”

Despite how hard he had to push himself, escaping from the cultist had felt good. Maybe  it was the thrill of the danger. Or maybe it was that flawless backflip  he’d executed to free himself. He rarely ever got to experience that  much action in their remote village.

As his  heartbeat slowed and the fear wore off, Vir realized he’d been in more  danger than he thought. Who knew what the cultist would’ve done to him  if he hadn’t broken free? Where would he have taken him? Would anyone  have found him? The sweat on his back picked up the cool breeze,  chilling him to his core.

If only I could get inside the temple, he thought. But the magic orb sealing those doors denied him entry. No  amount of wishing and hoping would get him through. Only prana would  solve that problem, and he had none of that… Yet.

Minutes passed  in tense silence, where each second felt like an hour. As a precaution,  Vir never stayed on the same rooftop for long. While the cultist didn’t  seem able to climb onto rooftops, the man had an uncanny knack for  following Vir around the city. His footsteps never fully faded, despite  Vir’s actions.

It was only  after Vir had lobbed a rock as a decoy that the cultist’s footsteps  finally died away. Vir waited several more minutes before he mustered  the courage to drop back down to the street, warily sneaking over to the  temple.

He regretted not waiting longer on the rooftops. Time passed with agonizing slowness, every rustle setting him on edge.

Finally, a  familiar voice hailed him. “Ho, Vir! You’re here early this morning! Tis  only to be expected, I suppose, what with it being your big day and  all.”

Head priest Apramor arrived with his tall, redheaded wife, Lady Aliscia.

“Good morning,  Apramor,” said Vir to the slender figure in priestly robes. Relief  washed over him. But Apramor’s words made the knot in his stomach  tighten again; he’d almost forgotten about the magic test.

Lady Aliscia spoke up. “Good morning, Vir. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long? You look tired.”

“Actually I, er, had an encounter with someone on the way here… a Child of Ash. He chased me through the alleys, but I got away… I think,” he said, staring at the dark alley in the distance.

Both Aliscia and Apramor, who had been unlocking the temple door, froze.

Apramor turned and stared him in the eye, all joviality missing from his expression. “Tell us everything.”

Vir summarized  his story, mentioning how he met the cultist, the tussle he got into,  and his escape. He’d commuted to the temple thousands of times in the  past. He knew every rooftop, every back alley. Every ledge he could use  to vault… but now, his village suddenly felt a little less familiar than  it had when he’d woken up this morning.

“I’ll inform  the guards. I am truly impressed that you escaped unscathed, Vir. The  Children are a powerful order. They are not to be trifled with. I  promise you we will deal with this man immediately.”

“Thank you,  sir,” Vir said with a satisfied smile. Despite his abysmal stamina, he’d  prevailed over the fearsome cultist. Rudvik would be so proud when he  told him.

“Where’s Maiya?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the creepy cultist.

Apramor chuckled. “Where else? In her comfortable bed, of course.”

Vir’s expression fell. His best friend was never up at this hour, but he’d hoped she could manage it just for today.

The head  priest clasped his hands together in prayer and gazed up at the starry  night, his face etched in a perfect picture of devotion. “Only Lord  Janak himself could raise her at this hour. Ooh Janak! Ooh Adinat! Would  you please—Ouch!”

Aliscia  delivered a swift kick to her husband’s shin, sending him hopping in  pain. “Dear, that’s hardly fair to our daughter,” she said, giving Vir a  sidelong glance.

Vir took the  hint. “Ah, that was my fault, sir. Maiya was up late helping me with the  writing lessons Aliscia aunty assigned me.”

Aliscia held out her hand. “You completed them, yes? And how many times do I have to tell you not to call me ‘aunty’?”

Vir smirked. Though she said that, she couldn’t hide the joy in her eyes, as usual. “Sure did. Got some of the next lesson done, too.”

“Of course you  did,” she said. “I can’t recall a single time where you failed to  finish your assignments. Keep it up and you might even have a life  outside of this village of ours.”

“Don’t really want to leave, though,” Vir said with a frown. “Just want to help Rudvik out as much as I can.”

“I tell you,  that man is blessed to have a son like you,” Apramor said, having  recovered from his shin injury. “My daughter, on the other hand? Head in  the clouds! All she ever talks about is ‘big city this, famous mejai that!’ She could learn a thing or two from you.”

Vir looked away and coughed.

Apramor went  to unlock the temple door. “Morning congregation begins in an hour. Vir,  I apologize for asking you to do this on your big day, but would you  mind sweeping the place for me?”

“Of course, sir!”

The priest nodded and stepped through the door, which closed shut with a click.

“Ah—” Vir said, reaching a hand out in vain. He eyed the door lock, then glanced at Aliscia. “Would you mind…”

Aliscia looked at him, then at the door. “That man! How forgetful can he be? I’m so sorry, Vir.”

She touched the Magic Lock orb on the door, making it glow with prana. “Here you go.”

He thanked her  before bursting inside. The thick scent of incense and age hit him the  moment he stepped foot into the temple. Vir wasn’t much of a believer,  but even he could sense the aura that filled the holy place.

He found a lantern on a shelf and began the process of lighting it. Magic Candle was far simpler and easier to use, but Vir didn’t have that option.

Vir’s hands  trembled with excitement as he went to light the tinderbox full of char  cloth. He almost dropped his fire steel on the ancient hardwood  flooring, but caught it just before it hit the ground. Once it ignited,  he gingerly transferred the small flame to the candle within the  lantern.

This was it! He’d  waited years for his magic to manifest. This was the last chance he  would ever have. Without magic, he had no future. But even a minor  elemental affinity would unlock endless possibilities.

With sweaty  palms and bated breath, Vir approached a piece of covered furniture on a  raised dais. After a quick glance to ensure that no one was looking, he  pulled the cloth off the apparatus. A translucent crystal as big as his  head mirrored his reflection right back at him.

Vir reached out and touched the device.

He stared at  his reflection, hoping against hope that the magic testing apparatus  would come to life. He prayed to Adinat. To Janak. To Haymi, and even to  Chala. But no matter how much he swore he’d honor the gods, their  blessings never came. The orb remained cruelly silent.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Aliscia aunty, by her light touch. “So that’s it, then,” he said.

“There may  still be time, Vir. Some don’t manifest an affinity until… well, I’ve  heard that in rare cases, it can take until their mid teens. Especially  out here where prana is scarce.”

Vir shook with anger. He knew she was just trying to cheer him up, but her words had the opposite effect.

“If that was true, I’d at least be able to use basic utility orbs to open doors and heat water, wouldn’t I? Everyone can  use those. I don’t even need an affinity! I just want to be like  everyone else. But I’m not. I’m prana scorned,” he said, touching the  tattoo on his chest. He was doomed to be magic-less…

But even as he said those words, he refused to accept it. A voice stirred from deep within him. One that rejected this reality.

Was this really okay? Could he truly accept this outcome?

He didn’t even need to think about it.

Vir’s fists clenched.

No badrakking way.