For a time, there was only darkness. The empty abyss cradled him in its arms, whispering promises of tranquility and rest. There was no pain or sorrow, only the neverending enjoyment of the moment's tranquility.
Yet, nothing lasts forever. Rays of burning light pierced through the comforting embrace, searing away the haven and tearing him away. Despite his best efforts, he could not resist and was dragged kicking and screaming into the light.
Reluctantly accepting his fate, Braun opened his eyes, taking in the sight of the sun shining through the bedroom window and into his eyes. Little wonder this cottage was the one set aside for visitors. No one here would want it.
With that cheery thought, he shoved the blankets off of himself and began getting ready for the day ahead. Forcing his protesting body to lift itself off of the bed, and onto the floor, before he changed his mind.
Thankfully, getting dressed didn't take long. Huntsmen learned quickly that, no matter how cool their clothes were, they had to be something that didn't impede movement and could be slipped on quickly and easily. It wasn't like Grimm or other threats would wait for you to be decent, as a few unintentional Schneebook celebrities could attest.
Checking his scroll revealed that it was eight in the morning. Plenty of time for him to make some breakfast, clean himself up, and make sure past-him hadn't left any messes for present-Braun to clean up last night.
It was kind of sad that he had that as part of his morning routine, but he knew better than to trust his impulse control when faced with interesting research.
After a quick search of the cottage, he was able to confirm that he hadn't done anything too boneheaded. Just wore himself too thin reading and transcribing the contents of the book.
His aura levels might look like he got into a fistfight with a berigel, and he certainly felt like it, but at least he'd finished the passive, reactive, and chaotic articles. The information was a jumbled mess rattling around his brain, but it was in there.
Fears assuaged for the moment, he moved to his next priority: breakfast. Seeing as he has a stocked pantry for once, he might as well take advantage of the opportunity.
The meal was fairly simple, just scrambled eggs and bacon, but damn if it wasn't delicious. Though, given the years of exposure to ration bars, his standards for food might be a bit lower than the norm.
With his needs met, he took a few minutes to clean up and gather his things before heading out to see Marigold.
Surprisingly, Deiri's streets were as busy in the morning as they had been last night, with Braun passing by merchants running their stalls, farmers on their way to their fields, two guards on patrol, children racing through the streets, and more.
Despite its size, this village was truly lively.
The glut of individuals had even helped him determine some new details about the residents and their methods. It seemed that the guard's gauntlets yesterday had not been an outlier. The businesses, the weapons, and even the farming tools made use of dust infusion for some purpose or another.
Patterns of fire dust snaking their way down from the stovetop, sparks crackling off of the yellow marks adorning a spearhead, and what he was fairly sure was water dust engraved in a shovel.
He would need to ask Marigold if he wanted to be certain, but it seemed like the people here, lacking the technological infrastructure much of the kingdoms benefited from, had instead supplemented their efforts with dust.
It would certainly explain the absurd degree of proficiency regarding the art of dust-weaving, having to rely so much on a finite resource would be strong encouragement for them to get very good at making the most of their stock.
The question was, were these old techniques that had been preserved by the previous generations, or if the methods had been innovated in response to the crisis. Given how pre-kingdom cultures tended to lean more towards esoteric uses of the substance, it could plausibly be either one.
If he has time between his work copying the collection and writing his thoughts on his findings, he would have to see about investigating the topic further.
However, with Marigold's house on the horizon, he needed to get his head back in the present. The storyteller struck him as someone who would happily pounce on any mistakes, whether out of offense or simply for her own amusement.
Idly side-stepping a brown-haired girl in a red dress as she raced after a fleeing cat, he went over his list of questions for today's session. Aside from his curiosity about the dust weaving/infusion, he wanted to ask her a few things about youkai encounters and the frequency thereof.
Having arrived at Marigold's home, Braun, after taking a moment to compose himself, walked up and knocked on the wooden entrance three times and stepped back.
After several seconds of waiting, the door swung open to permit him entrance, the home's owner standing in the hallways with a welcoming smile on her face.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Marigold asked, gesturing for him to enter. "Come in!"
He obeyed, following her through the hallway and into the living room. Each of them taking the seats they had used yesterday.
However, once he was seated, Braun felt himself start to drift off. His earlier exhaustion returning now that he was at rest.
Despite his best efforts, it became harder and harder to keep track of his conversation with Marigold. Her words began to blur and his body felt like it was running on autopilot, eschewing speech for simple nods.
Just as he thought he was going to doze off, he was jolted back to wakefulnesses by a pair of hands grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking vigorously.
"Bwa?!" Braun shot back up, eyes frantically taking in his surroundings before focusing in on the face in front of him.
Seeing that he was awake again, Marigold took a step back and glared down at Braun in disappointment. Her arms folded across her chest for emphasis.
"When I ended yesterday's session, it was with the understanding that you would take care of what you needed to and rest well for today," she stated bluntly. "Given your condition, I assume you chose to disregard my advice?"
"Ahhaha…" The historian chuckled sheepishly. "I kind of got caught up in researching the collection you lent me. I kept telling myself I'd stop after this entry, but they were just so interesting…"
"Researchers," Marigold sighed. A strange familiarity in her eyes and voice, as if that one word encapsulated an entire lifetime-worth of wonderful, yet oh-so-stressful, experience. "You lot never listen once something's caught your eye, do you?"
"Just the dedicated ones," Braun pointed out, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his head telling him to quit digging himself deeper.
Naturally, he ignored it. "I take it you knew some of your own?"
"Just the one," she smiled fondly at the memory. "She had enough curiosity for ten and never lost that spark of wonder towards the world. My time with her was the best part of my life, despite all the misadventures we dragged each other into."
"What happened?" Braun asked. His curiosity and desire to meet such a person overriding his hesitance at Marigold using the past tense.
"Life happened. Time moved on and we ended up going our separate ways," the young woman explained. "I took up my current position and she went off to explore unknown frontiers." She sat back down, taking a sip from the teacup next to her. "I'll see her again one day, but we're not exactly in a position to contact one another right now."
And didn't he feel like an asshole.
"Oh, I'm sorry…" he trailed off; not really sure what to say to something like that.
He had lost a few friends and allies over the years, but none that he could imagine having such a strong bond with. Perks of being the local crackpot he supposed…
Shaking his head to clear himself of the completely inappropriate sense of envy he felt, Braun turned his mind to less sensitive topics.
"So...," the historian began, clearing his throat. "Something I noticed on my way here today was the rather large amount of dust-imbued items around the village. Not only weapons, but tools, and even appliances. Were those techniques passed down from previous generations or developed more recently?"
"You do remember I'm a storyteller, not a technician. Correct?" Marigold noted wryly, accepting the topic shift with grace. But before Braun could offer an apology she waved him off. "I'm just joking with you. It would be a rather poor storyteller who didn't know the history of their own home."
"The answer to your question is that it's a bit of both," she stated. "Those who came before had something of an interest in the substance and experimented with the most effective ways to use it. More recent generations adapted that knowledge to apply to more than just killing things."
She leaned back in her chair. "As you might imagine, our dust supply is somewhat limited. While creating dust-infused tools does present a short-term loss, they offer such a wide variety of uses that it works out better in the long-term."
"How so?" Braun asked, slightly confused by the answer. "I know that imbuing something with dust gives you better control over the output, but the overall capacity should remain the same."
"Only if you look at it the ordinary way." Marigold wagged her finger at her guest. "While it might be the same amount of dust in either case, the enhanced control that infusing dust into an object grants has a secondary benefit..." she paused for dramatic effect.
"If you know what you're doing, you can fuel the process mostly on one's aura. Dust has to be consumed as a catalyst either way, but it's the difference between using a spark and tinder to make fire and lighting one with a flamethrower."
"I think I get it," he muttered. "By using an object as a bridge, you can manipulate the ratios of aura-to-dust. Whereas using the powder or crystals directly leaves you with a set exchange rate, one that heavily draws from the dust."
The historian frowned suddenly, face twisted in thought. "But wouldn't that mean everyone using those items has an unlocked aura and the control for what you're describing?"
"Correct," Marigold stated, dropping a verbal bomb on her conversational partner without the slightest hesitation. "We're an isolated village far away from the safety of the kingdoms, ensuring that most of the population can fight back if there's an attack is common sense."
"Isn't that riskier though?" Braun asked tentatively, not willing to risk offending his host over the matter. "A single aura-user going rogue can do serious damage."
"Perhaps," she shrugged. "But there are checks and balances. The guards are the ones with the best equipment and training, the rest have unlocked aura and varying degrees of combat proficiency, but nothing that can match up."
"On top of that, there's the matter of numbers," she continued. "Even if a few people theoretically get it into their heads to wreak havoc, there are far more who would choose to oppose them. That there isn't enough disparity among villagers to motivate such acts is just icing on the cake."
"So basically, no one has the means and reasons to really rock the boat?" the historian asked.
"More or less," Marigold admitted. "Was there anything else you wanted to ask me before we begin?"
"Just one more thing." Braun leaned forward. "You mentioned some things about purity and impurity last time and I was wondering if you could expand on that a little?"
"If it's really of interest to you, then I could elaborate a tad." She shrugged nonchalantly.
"The concept is fairly simple at its core: purity is an existence untainted by the concepts of death and decay, physical and spiritual. Whereas impurity is the presence of those existences, a force that seeps into life and taints it with its mere presence," she shifted in her seat.
"A pure being would not age beyond their prime, nor would they be shackled by the invisible chains we call reality or the fear of something beyond comprehension. You could call it a state of enlightenment which humans could devote their entire lives to attaining a fraction of."
The storyteller scoffed at the thought. "Some might consider such an existence something to aspire to. I don't think it can even be called living." Her tone, previously playful or neutral at worst, had taken on a decidedly venomous bent.
"You really disagree with that idea, huh?" Braun asked, slowly leaning backward to put more distance between him and the irritated woman.
"It offends me on both a personal and professional level," she replied. "Life has meaning because of its ups and downs, the journey you take, and what you experience along the way. Someone who doesn't fear the unknown, who never changes because they're just that far beyond their surroundings…" She trailed off, fists clenched tight.
Marigold shook her head with a grimace. "That isn't a story worth telling."
Braun blinked at his host's response, having not expected her to hold such an outlook. "So you think that it's more important to grow and change, facing down new experiences in the process, than it is to have a stable and enjoyable life?"
"I believe that an essential part of life is facing the unknown," she corrected. "No matter which form it takes, there is always something new on the horizon if you only dare look. Once you've given up on that, the world has nothing left to offer you."
She took a calming breath before continuing her explanation, locking eyes with Braun's. "The reason stories are such important things is that they give people glimpses beyond their bubbles and encourage them to seek out their own adventure. It's a never-ending cycle that's propelled Humans and Faunus to achievement after achievement for as long as either has existed."
"Perhaps it can be chaotic and cruel, but it has meaning. While I'm sure some might see an unchanging existence as happiness, to me it devalues everything people are or do, trapping you in an eternal ennui disguised as peace."
The historian stared back at the storyteller, slightly shaken by such a passionate speech. Despite that, he managed to muster up the will to give a simple "I see."
"Yes, I suppose you do," Marigold replied with a bright smile as she flipped open her book to where they left off. "Now then, it's time for the second tale..."
Last time, we covered the history of the Lunarians and the birth of humanity. The first and second children of the Brother Gods.
However, there remains one more group to cover, though I suppose you could count it as two separate existences. The children of man: the gods and youkai.
While the God of Light was fully satisfied with their labors, his younger brother held a different view.
He had always lingered in the shadow of his elder, simply mimicking his ideas and playing with the metaphorical sandbox his brother had built. However, making humanity had lit a fire within him. Pushing him to build something more out of these new toys.
He knew that his brother would likely stay in the background for some time, covertly blessing humanity until they develop enough to safely reveal the Gods' existence to them. After his last attempt, he wanted them to stand on their own, without divine aid or guidance, so as to encourage involvement with the world.
Despite, or perhaps because of, his status as the more invested of the pair, his elder brother rarely pushed his works to live up to their potential. Content to simply watch as they meandered through life.
The younger Brother had a different philosophy. Their creations would need to be tested, pushed to evolve or perish. Only then could they truly reach the heights they were meant to achieve.
For had the Lunarians not proven that allowing a group to go unchallenged only bred stagnation?
And so, the God of Darkness set his mind towards devising a threat to push humanity onward. Something that could continue to force them to adapt and grow without being truly surmounted through those victories.
After many days of deliberation, the younger Brother had his answer. Monsters of great strength and number, creatures that exceeded the limits of meager flesh. An unending horde that would only grow stronger with time.
He would call this plague, the Grimm. For they would be a grim reminder that, no matter how far they advanced, mankind could always be laid low. Truly, his greatest work.
Yet, he could not help but feel that his magnum opus was insufficient. A wave of brute force with a handful of methods. Yes, they would wage a glorious war upon humanity, but surely humans would become inured to such a repetitive approach?
He needed something more versatile, something that could test the people in ways beyond simple combat. That could strike terror and awe into their hearts for as long as their species existed.
The problem was that, despite all his power, he knew that he had reached the limits of his creativity. His very nature opposed creation and even designing the Grimm had taken everything he could bring to bear. He could no doubt improve them in some ways, greater strength or more variety, but he was painfully aware that intelligent creatures were his sibling's domain, not his.
However, the God of Darkness was cunning, and soon he realized there was a simple and elegant solution to his dilemma. Had he and his brother not crafted a race designed to develop in countless unique ways? One that could warp reality with their very souls?
If he could not create the quality of beings that were required, then he would simply let humanity do the work for him. What better an opponent could there be than themselves?
And so, he set about his work. Modifying the souls of humanity without his brother noticing was a challenge, but one he managed to overcome. Now, just as their will could reshape the world, so could belief and fear.
How could the God of Light miss such a thing, you ask?
While by no means naive or foolish, the elder Brother held the not unjustified belief that his younger sibling either could or would only interfere in obviously destructive ways. As such, this unprecedented act of subtlety and long-term planning slipped right past him.
And it's not as though beings just started appearing immediately after the God of Darkness made his changes. No, it would be centuries before the impact of his work would truly bear fruit. But, much like a snowball rolling downhill, once it started it just kept building.
Awaiting that day, he kept himself amused by playing around with the Grimm. Creating ones for every environment and occasionally allowing a few to 'slip' his control and leave the land of darkness to menace unsuspecting humans.
And one day, it finally happened. A small village, one of several surrounding a grand forest, started suffering from mysterious illnesses and assaults. Mangled corpses dotted the forest and village outskirts, while the cries of the afflicted filled the streets.
Yet, despite the villagers' best efforts, no culprits could be found. People would walk into the forest and never return in one piece, food would rot without warning, and sickness ran rampant through the village.
Unable to find a rational explanation for these rampant misfortunes, superstition and terror ran rampant. The villagers, desperate to put a name or face to this unknown threat, began to blame the events on some manner of a supernatural entity.
Stories of monstrous hounds emerging from the shadows to hunt the unwary and spirits passing judgment for misdeeds, once reserved for scaring particularly willful children into compliance, now haunted the minds of all those who laid eyes upon the forest.
Cults sprang up like grass, each blaming the misfortune on a different source, insistent that the only way to end the suffering was to appease or remove their chosen culprit.
The town guard claimed that the responsible party was a mage who had sworn themselves to dark forces and must be rooted out and executed for the good of all. Who, they declared with the utmost of contempt, cowardly slew only those away from the watchful eyes of the guard. Resorting to poisoning the village's foodstuffs rather than risk confrontation.
The farmers blamed the misfortune on the land itself having been angered by the village's increasing exploitation of it. They told everyone in earshot that the only solution was to show proper respect for the land and giving compensation for its bounty.
The local spiritual leader declared that the fault lay with the masses, that their sinful behaviors had opened the door for foul spirits to torment everyone around them. He demanded that the populace of the village atone for their transgressions through penance, whether they wanted to or not
The last of these groups took a different approach. They blamed the events on unholy creatures of darkness, who sought to end all life and whose mere presence poisoned their surroundings. Yet, rather than demand for the villagers to correct some behavior or remove some aspect of life, they instead put forward the idea that the situation could be solved by appealing to a higher power.
This final group, consisting of a mixture of warriors, mages, and the more optimistic civilians, believed that there existed a being called the Companion who opposed monsters and protected humans. A god, though the term didn't quite exist then, who would reward faith with assistance and purge both the creatures and their taint.
Naturally, none of these groups would agree with one another and the in-fighting only grew worse as time went on and incidents continued to mount.
The guards' faction began assaulting and detaining anyone they deemed 'suspicious,' the farmers had become increasingly insular and devoted to their work, the priest's group was holding public demonstrations of penance, and the companions had barricaded themselves within their newly-built shrine and were fervently begging their god for aid.
Fascinating, isn't it? Two incidents with no real connection to one another, a single glimpse into the darkness of the unknown, and the villagers were tripping over themselves to fill that void. Inventing all sorts of foul creatures and reasons for their plight.
And so, my obsession with metaphysics continues. And more of Marigold's character is revealed.
Maybe she's the local version of Merrybell. Or Yukari, Yukari pretending to be Merrybell, or Merry on her way to becoming Yukari. Or this is all a red herring and she's not actually anyone of importance.
I think ZUN's love of trolling the fandom has infected me. Send help.