CHAPTER 3 - Just Who The Hell Do You Think I Am? (Patreon)

It took very little time for Jiran and Micah to string the huge slab of meat up above the fire pit. Jiran turned to head back outside but Micah stopped him with a raised hand.

“I want you to take the rest of the day off. Niya will finish your deliveries for the afternoon and bring back your satchel. You’re going to want to prepare yourself for tonight.

“Tiering up is important Jiran, especially after what you just did,” Micah breathed a gust of air out of his nose as he squared his shoulders.

He then sat down on their communal mat with his hands on his knees.

“Jiran, your father, and my father, both chose to build a home here. To raise a family and contribute in their own ways. There is nothing wrong with that life, they both found fulfillment in it, many do.

“I only served three seasons in the army. In that time I learned my father's path was best for me as well. Today you threw away that chance. A single season in the army will change a boy to a man. Four seasons will turn a man into a monster. An entire year, seven long seasons, will kill even a monster.

“Now, for some fools' thrice-damned reason, you chose to serve fourteen seasons!” His hands balled into fists as his rage slowly built to a boiling point.

“Two years, Jiran. What were you thinking proclaiming that in front of the entire village? There is no way the mana will let you back out now. I told you just last week that an oath before so many will never fade. I swear talking to you is like squeezing water from a rock!”

He paused, breathing heavily, eyes boring into Jiran as he gradually mastered his fury.

“What I’m trying to say, what's truly the most important advice I can give you is, don’t waste a single moment. Every chance you have to grow more powerful, you need to grab it and tear into it like a dissipating beast.

“The threats facing the Imperial Army will kill you within those two years if you don’t find a way to stand at the top.

“Learn your body, learn your mana, learn to kill, or you will not survive,” With those words, Micah got up and quietly padded out of the hovel.

Two years, two years, two years.

What am I going to do? How am I going to survive?

Now that it had been pointed out to him, it seemed so obvious.

I’m going to die before I finish my service. When I’m forced to leave the village in two years to join the army, I’ll never get the chance to return.

That's what everyone else must have been thinking out there on the field as well. Skandor’s disinterest is so obvious now. Wasted meat, that's all I am.

Jiran looked at the huge slab of tier four beast meat swinging over the still-warm coals with entirely new eyes.

What a fool I am.

Time swiftly passed as Jiran became lost in his thoughts. He was so despondent he didn’t notice his cousin dropping off his satchel, or his father returning from his day of work at the pier.

Neither spoke a word as his father, with well-practiced motions, prepared and cooked the high-Density meat. It wasn’t until the smell of the density-rich meat flooded his senses, that Jiran snapped out of his daze. Looking up at him for the first time that day, Jiran softly greeted the man.

“Father, welcome home,” He bowed respectfully.

“Son, Micah told me what happened today. I can’t say I understand your choice or that I agree with it, but you still have two years to prepare, two full years to spend with us before you have to go to the army.

“Let’s not waste that time moping about, the horizon’s mountain is not today’s hill. Your mother will be home soon, clean yourself up and prepare for dinner.”

His father did not have Micah’s stature or muscles, but all the same, he exuded a sense of calm strength that Jiran found, especially at this moment, comforting.

Jiran hopped to his feet in response to his father's words. He shuffled nervously about their home while feeling his father’s gaze boring into his back.

He changed out of his work uniform, restocked the wood for the night's fire, and prepared the table setting for their upcoming meal.

Soon his mother returned from her work at the prayer hall. One look was all it took to completely shatter what little defenses Jiran had prepared. The child launched across the room and tackled her as he bawled into her lap.

Time flowed smoothly as mother comforted son.

By the time dinner was ready, Jiran’s emotions were calm enough for him to speak without tears.

Knowing whatever Jiran was about to say would likely upset his mother, Jiran’s father spoke up first.

“Tonight, our child becomes an adolescent. He has chosen the path he wishes to tread, and even though it is not our path, we will not stand in his way.

“Jiran, for the next year you will continue to work for your uncle as he is the only other returnee from the army in the village, besides Skandor.

“Your second year, you will spend with the hunter disciples under Skandor himself. You will surely need the survival skills he can teach.”

His mother began to open her mouth but a hard look from his father stopped her. Dark brown eyes landed back on Jiran, and his father waited patiently for Jiran’s acceptance.

“Yes, father,” he nodded reluctantly.

An entire year with the hunter disciples would be a worthy challenge, albeit a miserable one, to help Jiran prepare. He nodded in approval and his father relaxed his posture, indicating Jiran’s mother had the floor to begin the nightly prayer.

“Mother above, we receive your blessing. Your gift of a strong child weathering the Seven seasons. Tonight this son of yours is a child no more. May he fulfill the destiny set forth by the Fathers.”

Her eyes shone with religious fervor at the short ceremony. Palm in hand, she raised her eyes to the sky and Jiran quickly followed. Tonight was not the night to disrespect his mother's prayer.

After the prayer, both parents watched Jiran as he took his first bite of the Tier four meat.

As if the beast was still alive, the meat moved inside of his mouth with a will of its own. He quickly swallowed to avoid the uncomfortable feeling.

Swallowing did not help. The morsel truly had a life of its own, not even reaching his stomach before dispersing into energy that ravaged the inside of his body.

Jiran tried to contain the forces struggling within him, but it was useless. His arms and legs spasmed uncontrollably. Unable to sit up any longer, he fell into a fetal position.

Then he remembered his uncle's words. ‘Tear into it like a dissipating beast,’ so he did just that.

He stopped focusing on the pain and erratic movements of his body.

He instead directed his consciousness into the feeling of the fresh density rampaging through his body. He tracked it carefully as it interacted with his mana. The substance of all creation, mana, pulled and tugged at the density, tearing off chunks and converting it to more mana.

He felt the remainder of the mana hard at work. It shredded through his body unwinding the seasons of effort he spent growing his attributes. Soon that same mana began reversing the process of destruction with waves of reinforcing regeneration. They swept through him regrowing muscles, bones, and organs making them far stronger than before.

Every inch of his body was being broken apart and then reconstructed by the overabundance of mana flowing through him. It pulsed and expanded, then shrunk and contracted with each beat of his heart.

In the middle of that maddeningly painful process, something changed. Jiran could feel it at the base of his head. In the back of his neck, a little spot no bigger than a speck of dirt became unbearably hot.

As the heat increased, his mana gathered inside his head. He could feel it there, writhing about, changing something important.

Should I be panicking?

The thought made Jiran realize he had no emotions.

I haven’t been afraid since the tiering started, did the mana take away my emotions?

The uncontrollable energies rampaging inside him shifted painfully through his body to gather at the spot in his neck.

Within three beats of his heart, all that raging mana was gone as if it never existed, completely absorbed into the tiny speck in his spine.

Jiran moaned in agony as his body reminded him the ritual had stopped before completion. He quickly discovered the mana had been doing something to shunt the pain of the tiering. His inner focus was immediately lost as pain overwhelmed his entire existence.

“Jiran! Jiran!” his mother yelled as she scrambled to him upon noticing something was wrong.

While Jiran’s mind was engrossed in pain far too great for any child to bear, new and alien thoughts bubbled to the surface of the boy's distracted mind.

Jiran?

My name is Brandon, who the hell is Jiran? Brandon wondered.

Those were the last thoughts that crossed their mind before blackness swallowed them both.

Micah fed up with Jiran's crap

Jiran's father

Jiran's Mother