Notes: As you read on with the series, you'll notice trends within each book's subplots and how they relate with the series' overarching plot of a possible Thirteenth Age. Book 1 was about a conspiracy that was unleashed at the book's end and (possibly) debunked last chapter. Likewise, Book 2 will also have its own subplot, which I will not reveal anything about outside the story's summary. This plot line will explain why I went in the direction I did with this chapter and future chapters.
History repeats itself. That is the vital moral I want to give this series. That is why I include visions, manuscripts, and the concepts of both Light magic and Scholar.
Anyway, enough rambling from me. Thank you everyone for the support!
Frankly stared at his workspace, shock written all over his face. For a society bent on preserving knowledge, he found only one scroll about their history during the Eleventh Age, and none from the Tenth.
Then again, archaeologists call those two ages the Dark Ages for a reason.
Frankly activated the scroll and the shimmering light transports him to a grassy field near a city center. Several market stalls stood by him, selling goods from newspaper scrolls to handcrafted rock jewellery. The center bustled with koopas, magikoopas, goombas and others, all eager to obtain the goods they needed.
He turned around. White marble temples and philosophical centers stood side-by-side. Community gardens surrounded the buildings, providing the city with dependable nutrition and a basic economic system. Markets bustled, children played and intellectuals discussed hypotheses everywhere Frankly looked.
Grey walls surround the lush city from the untamed dangers, and the watchtowers' watchmen stand, determined to maim any dangers lurking outside. Crimson-stained spears lined the walls' tops in areas lacking a watchtower. Frankly shivered; the city's undoubtedly fortified.
He appreciated the beauty, but he also wanted information about this peculiar place and the Eleventh Age in general.
A mass, all dressed in cream-hued ceremonial robes, filed from the temples and marched to the city center. They sang praise to Knowledge and Destiny as they blended in with the residents. Frankly's mind nagged him to check out the temple—to which he obliged.
By the time he reached the first temple's entrance, a thick, unbreakable veil of silence fell around him. The birds weren't tweeting, nor were the happy-go-lucky townspeople chattering. Even with the old goomba's failing auditory capabilities, Frankly swore he could hear his thoughts.
A slam derailed his concentration, and a voice brought him back to the augmented reality. Frankly snapped his head towards the temple door, where a sneering dragon-koopa stood. Frankly's eyes widened; Bowser's a mere koopa troopa compared to this behemoth's stature.
"What is it, Goomba?" the koopa asked, "Didn't I give you an assignment to work?"
"Errr…" Frankly stood speechless, "I don't know where I am. I used the power of Light to come here. Either the Wand of Light or the Lux Aeterna."
"The Lux Aeterna, you say?" the koopa beamed, much to Frankly's relief.
"What happened to it? Didn't Rex use-"
The koopa reached into his shell and pulled out a white-tipped wand. The wand's orb pulsated as the koopa held it vertically near his face and waved his claw around the tip.
"Rex is long gone," the koopa stated, "It's a long story."
"Humph…" Frankly huffed, "Sir…"
"Koopa," he replied, "They call me Koopa."
"Okay, Koopa," Frankly acknowledged, "I'm an archaeologist. My job is to find out about history and record it. I love long stories."
"Well then. Since you're a respectable lover for knowledge, I shall pass on what I know as the keeper of the scepter," Koopa began, "Rex was the first constant user of the Lux Aeterna, all the way from the start of the last Age. He formed an empire called the Corporeus Empire. It was small—consisting only of this city and the outlying areas—but it was mighty. Through the Lux Aeterna's powers, Rex knew how to do everything a successful emperor needed. He was able to grow the empire until two-thirds of the planet fell under his control.
"But, as everyone knows, even the most powerful emperors fall victim to death; the inescapable force. But the empire continued from rex to rex, and it only grew throughout the Tenth Age.
"At the end of the Age, The Corporeus Empire allied with the adherents of Spirit magic to form a spiritual-based coalition. As a result, the Elemental and Cosmic magics formed the mortality-based Mazuno Empire, our direct enemy, to protect itself. This ushered in the Eleventh Age.
"Now, us koopas played a central role for how the Eleventh Age's kingdoms were set up. We were one of the few species sliced in the middle. The Western koopas of the plateaus supported Light magic, while the Eastern koopas of the desert supported Cosmic magic. The Spirit-aligned Vindico magikoopas took that to their advantage and, with their magic, drove the rexes from power and installed the koopa royal bloodline. We don't know how, but theories state that our ongoing tensions with the Mazuno Empire could've empowered the Spirit-aligned minions.
"Anyway, due to the strife following the overthrow, the rexes deserted the Corporeus Empire and allied with the Mazuno Empire's mushroomers against the western koopas. The yoshis and birdos followed them not long after—they all became more attuned to Elemental magic. Conversely, the goombas left the mushroomers of Mazuno Empire and joined us due to the goombas' newfound love for knowledge. Ever since then, nothing else changed, other than us being in a new Age."
Frankly nodded, "I was wondering how a long line of rexes ruled something they don't represent now-"
The realization crashed into him. Koopas versus mushroomers; magikoopas versus yoshis. The Corporeus Empire and the Mazuno Empire must be Eleventh Age versions of Dark Land and the Mushroom Kingdom. If so, do their animosities exist from outside manipulative forces? If the magikoopas and other Spirit-attuned species are still orchestrating the adversarial relations, then why do they? What do they benefit from global war? And why were everyone suddenly united for a so-called apocalyptic transition to the Thirteenth Age?
Something sinister's occurring.
"Out of curiosity… If the Corporeus Empire took over the entire world from the Mazuno Empire… What would be the Empire's weakness?" Frankly questioned. He can't decipher whether that's occurring in modern times, but he wants to cover every possible angle.
Koopa smiled, "Every type of magic has its strengths and weaknesses. That's how it gets regulated. The anima around us is limited after all, and any abuse from the four magics will potentially destroy everything we know."
"But what's the weaknesses?"
"You're a feisty one," Koopa snickered, "Fine. I'll leave you with what I do know; it's the least you deserve. It's one we've recited for ages, but we never understood the true meaning. It goes like this…"
Frankly grabbed a pen from his pocket and wrote the recital on the manuscript's back as Koopa chanted it. He reread the message, puzzled.
"What does this mean?"
Koopa shrugged, "I figure you'll eventually find out."
Frankly groaned, "Thanks anyway. I need to go."
The goomba ripped the manuscript and the lights engulfed him. As he teleported, Koopa's chant still rang through Frankly's head:
Knowledge knows threats to its welfare, but not an uncontrolled weapon.
Water, fire, earth and air—the Forces' victims of aggression.
But everything we see and know; a mere shred to a divine plan.
And revelation governs the ghast, in the future or the past.
All are weak, all are strong, but none will ever fail.
But to seize control or maintain balance, you must find each holy grail.
Goombella opened her fatigued eyes. Green pastures surrounded her, while just past the field, an endless sea stretched into the horizon. She sniffed; the fresh air's like a basket of clean laundry. She's in paradise, but she doesn't know where she is.
A fortified city's walls stood behind her, eager to keep out its unwanted visitors. Guard towers stood within a stone's throw from each neighbor, all staffed with mushroomers and goombas carrying bows and arrows. A portcullis invaded the wall's middle, and two armored toad guards stood on either side as if the hole-laden iron slab planned to escape.
She approached the portcullis, and the guards eyed her. She knew she's a stranger, but she hoped being a goomba aided her case.
"Foreigner," one guard spoke, "What's your purpose?"
"My purpose?" Goombella questioned, although she already knew the answer, "I came here to learn about the history of mushroomers and goombas."
"Hmm," the second guard rubbed his plated chin, "Why care about our history? All we do is invade."
Goombella sighed. Right; she forgot Tenth Agers don't care for their history.
"It's just… I'm a goomba, and I always wanted to know about my kind's past. Or, like, where we are right now."
"Well, okay," the first guard replied, "We'll let you in, but if you do anything wrong here, we'll execute you."
'Sheesh,' Goombella thought. She kept her small hands in her pockets and hunched over, as if showing submission. The guards behind the portcullis pulled the structure's rope and the gate lifted. Goombella thanked the guards and speedwalked from the outer walls.
The city's run-down compared to the Ninth Age cities, but they still had charm. The houses stood modest, illuminated only by torchlight. No water flowed to any of them—wells instead littered the block. Each water source bustled with women washing laundry and children hoisting their family's water needs to their residence.
The archaeologist turned her focus from the residential area to an open field. A dozen altars stood amid the open field, each covered in sticky residue. Mushroomers and goombas stood in lines behind each altar, all holding onto a basket of fruit.
"Remember, remember! Make your sacrifices to the Elemental Gods!" a mushroomer in druidic robes commanded.
Goombella shrugged. 'Knowledge lost' from the Ninth Age was a huge understatement. How did the aesthetics towards the Wand of the Elements turn into paganism?
"Are you here for your sacrifice?" Goombella heard a voice behind her. She jumped at the voice's suddenness, but turned around. A much younger, clean-shaven mushroomer druid stared back at her with a small smile.
"Actually," Goombella replied, "I'm not from these parts. I dunno what's happening."
"It's wise not to let others know you're not from here, but I, for one, welcome my foreign friends who show interest in peace through our religion," the druid warned, "Our dogma states that we must sacrifice our first harvests to the Gods, else we'll receive a bad harvest. We've had many famines happen because people didn't return respect to the earth that created and raised them."
"Who are these… Elemental Gods?" Goombella questioned, "And like, I'm sorry, but I came from a place where we only believe in magic."
"The Elemental Gods are everywhere. They're in the air you breathe; the water you drink; the food you eat. They provided a beautiful world for us to enjoy, and in return, us druids make sure to preserve its beauty. Our duties became much more important after Corporeus decided to declare war on everyone. Power-hungry rexes, you know."
"Interesting," she nodded, "Have you ever heard about the Wand of the Elements? Or the Elemental Wand?"
The mushroomer rubbed his chin, "I did hear about an Elemental Wand back in my monastery. We believe this Elemental Wand was created by the Gods to convert their spiritual nature into physical manifestations. What's interesting is the Elemental Wand is not common knowledge even among the most devoted Elementists; how'd you know about it?"
"It's a legend where I'm from," Goombella shrugged. She wanted to stay and talk some more, but she may appear fishy to the druid already. The Elementism followers seemed friendly and civilized, but she didn't want to risk any trouble in an unfamiliar setting in an alien time period, "Thanks for explaining to me, druid dude. I'll try a sacrifice later on."
The druid smiled, "May the Gods bless you."
After reading the Koopa manuscript, Kolorado landed head-first into a pile of hot sand. He pulled his head from the pile and rubbed his eyes. Dry heat radiated throughout the barren landscape, while the corrosive grains of sand danced in the wind. He scoffed; the area's like an ancient Koopahari.
The very area this entire mess began.
The koopa trudged through the knee-deep sand for hours and found only a spectacular sunset hued red from the aerosols. The Sun slipped below the horizon and Kolorado shook from the unexpectedly-cold evening temperatures by the time a tent village came into view.
The village was modest—more a rest stop for a nomadic people than an actual civilization. The tents would rip apart the moment a haboob washed over them, but the koopa troopas within them didn't seem to mind. The closest thing of value the town had was a large iron sundial pulled on an ostro-drawn wagon.
Kolorado stepped into the village. Nobody noticed him; they were all too busy admiring the stars. The sky was spilt milk on the universe's canopy, soaking up the nebulae and messily spreading their unique colors. Some oohed at the shooting stars' white streaks contrasting the blurred dots, while others took notes as they observed.
"It doesn't get better than a spectacular show," a green-shelled koopa troopa approached Kolorado, "Isn't it inspiring?"
"I do say, ol' chap," Kolorado agreed, "Is this why you camp here?"
"We roam everywhere," the koopa shook his head, "Wars erupt through every part of the world. Corporeus wants to take over the entire world and spread their so-called "Lux" magic around. They've drawn many traitorous koopas to their side. Now, they're brainwashed by mortal and spiritual knowledge rather than the unfailing patterns of the universe. They build artificial domes of order rather than letting the universe decide every course of action. It's the most despicable of actions, letting the fallible beliefs overtake astrology."
"How does that relate to you being here, old boy? They kick you out?" Kolorado questioned.
"We don't form cities. Everyone is equal because we are of the same force," the koopa preached, "God is not a single person. God is the Cosmos. They're the stars; the planets; the moons. God is the force that moves our universe. All of us are equal pieces of the force we know as God. We are divine, and the divine should treat others as divine. That means no money, as that creates rich and poor. No government, as that creates the lords and the serfs. That is our eternal sacrifice."
"What do the stars tell you?"
"The heavens, in general," the koopa troopa commented, "The Sun tells us what season we're in with the use of the sundial we have. The moon coordinates our traditions. Most of all, the stars. They remind us why we live the lives that we do. They teach us to humble ourselves into the near-nothing creatures that we are, yet simultaneously connect with the anima all throughout the universe."
"And how do you do that?"
"We practice something we call Cosmic magic. What we do is extremely limited, as the Cosmos itself should dictate our fate. We just use it to decipher what the universe wants us to know, and we use it to defend our civilizations from possible attacks from outsiders."
Kolorado nodded. He must admit—from his desert expeditions in the Koopahari and Dry Dry Desert, he expected the behavior. The nomads there tend to be anarchist astrologers and astronomers.
"What about other systems that don't align with yours?"
"Everyone has different beliefs for different reasons. Elementalists are polytheistic, Spiritualists are monotheistic, and Luxists are secularists. That's perfectly fine, but none of their beliefs are as far-reaching as the Cosmos," the koopa said, "What we mean are actions that go against the Cosmos, such as alchemy the Elementalists try to do or claiming to have a certain future knowledge as the Luxists do. Us Cosmos practitioners are atheists, in the sense that everything's up to Fate and the universe."
"Neat. I love this place, dear boy," Kolorado complimented, "Thanks for the explanation, but I must seek more knowledge."
"About the universe?"
"About everything."
Kooper shivered as the wind teased his scales. Darkness had swept these forlorn plains ages ago and never relented. He studied the bare trees—they're frail as his former neighbor Koopa Koot, even after his daily baths of lemongrass lotion and talc. Kooper hummed an upbeat tune to himself—the cloaked silence and the gales' hisses too unsettling.
The koopa ventured inside the lifeless forest, questioning his motives on the way. He did explore Forever Forest and became one of the few to live to tell about—and the woods reminded him of that cursed forest. That was with Mario. Now, he's alone.
He dodged low-hanging branches and rocky intrusions, each instance a sudden but welcomed distraction from his menacing memories. Minutes later, he reached the woods' end: a dilapidated mansion.
Kooper sniggered—it's just like Forever Forest and that creepy Boo Mansion. But the more he studied the mansion, the more Kooper inferenced that the structure wasn't a suspect, but a mere victim to the hostile setting.
He sojourned towards the structure, hunched as if his blue shell would become invisible. The wind howled, causing the mansion to creak as Kooper approached it. But within seconds, the breeze calmed and a white cloud engulfed the structure. The blue koopa felt his eyes widen at the sight—he knew a supernatural event consumed the mansion, but he didn't know what.
A sudden gust blew the mansion's door open, revealing numerous boos, dry bones and magikoopas surrounding a makeshift altar. Alerted by the squeaky hinges, the entities all turned to him.
Kooper's heart pounded as several sinister smirks skewered him. He noticed the boos disappear. The frightened koopa tried fleeing the scene, but the boos reappeared and surrounded him. Famished, the boos closed in on Kooper.
Thoughts raced a mile a minute in his head. He tried recalling his past experiences with boos. What did he and Mario do that tamed Bow and Bootler? What about King Boo and the other Boo Basement residents? But he couldn't handle any thought longer than the digits on his quaking, perspiring hands.
"Halt!" a voice broke his thoughts—and the boo circle. Kooper focused on the voice's source: a large magikoopa female—about double Kammy's size. She exited the castle and hovered above the circle.
"Heh heh," the boos hissed, "Our first victim in millennia!"
"No," the magikoopa's voice boomed, "Something about this koopa intrigues me."
The boos unleashed dredged noises akin to spiritual sighs before they disappeared. The magikoopa lowered herself and stood face-to-face with the bemused koopa.
"Where am I?" Kooper stuttered over his words, more from confusion than fear.
"You're in the Animus Forest of the Corporeus Empire. We are practitioners of the Spirit. Necromancers," the magikoopa smirked, "If you're dead, we could always help. Watch."
The magikoopa waved her wand and shot a pile of brittle koopa bones. The bones rejoined as an identifiable koopa skeleton and rattled to life. The skeleton peered around before focusing its attention to Kooper.
"Ah, that's a good one," the magikoopa continued.
Kooper stared at the skeleton, unsure whether to be awed or creeped out. While he became familiar with dry bones throughout his life, he wanted to know how they were reanimated. Now, he almost wished he didn't.
"But… How?" he questioned, "Shouldn't the four magics regulate each other to conserve the universe's energy?"
The magikoopa frowned, "Unfortunately, that's the uneasy part for us. It's a sensitive area for magikoopas. It's a long story."
Kooper folded his arms, "I have time."
"Well, it goes like this…" she breathed, "All magikoopas believe in Spirit magic, and we all practice it to some degree. But even our magic has its limits. There's only so much we can do before our energy runs out.
"We've spent much of the Tenth Age researching our magic and how our use affected the universe's anima. Our results concluded that we have about five thousand years of use before the energy around us becomes imbalanced.
"We were stuck between two unfortunate places. We use spirit magic in our culture and religion, but we also didn't want energy to be imbalanced. Energy imbalance is extremely destructive. It leads to complete chaos everywhere throughout the Cosmos, famines, droughts, floods and the potential destruction of sanity.
"Us magikoopas had lengthy debates for centuries. The results almost became mythology to us by the time the first five millennia mark dawned, but even on that we argued.
"Finally, it happened. A group of magikoopas decided to take matters into their own hands. They kidnapped one of their dissenters, tied him up to a stone altar, and sacrificed him. Legend stated that it occurred on that very altar," the magikoopa pointed to the stone slabs inside the building.
Kooper's eyes bulged, "Whoa! So, the magikoopas split then?"
"A split is an understatement," the magikoopa answered, "We became two entirely different cultures from that point on. Our sect, the Redivivus Sect, continued the aggressors' policies of sacrifice every five thousand years, while the other, the Vindico Sect, continued researching ways to end sacrifices and supply the universe with infinite Spirit energy.
"Our policies concerning Spirit magic changed too. My sect vehemently disagrees with infinite energy—that's not how the universe works. The other sect just wanted to abuse Spirit energy without any setbacks.
"However, one area we're united on is a belief within our lore. It states that there's a specialized wand of some type in the heavens, wielded by the Highest God. We believe that wand would regulate our energy enough that sacrifices won't be required. Even then, from how to retrieve that wand to which god held that wand differed between our two sects."
Kooper scowled, "But why sacrifice? Don't magikoopas who die also give up energy?"
The magikoopa shook her head, "Death is simply a transition from a purely physical state to a purely spiritual state. Sacrifices actually destroy the spirit and transition it into different forms. This is why sacrifices became controversial."
"Who do you believe in?"
"The Six Elder Stars," she said, "Spirit magic is the only magic of the true Gods. It infuses the anima around us into a viable lifeforce capable of being agents rather than objects—something reserved only for the strongest and mightiest beings. Those are the Six Stars."
"And what's your name?"
"Right. I didn't introduce myself," the magikoopa cackled, "I'm Kamira, leader of the Redivivus magikoopas. Nice to meet you. And you are?"
"Kooper," he answered, "Where are the others of your sect?"
"Unfortunately, I'm the only one left. Every other magikoopa alive are Vindicos."
Kooper rubbed his chin, "You see, I'm from the Twelfth Age. We have magikoopas everywhere there. Does that mean they're Vindicos also?"
"Do you know of any sacrifices that go on, or went on during the Eleventh and Twelfth Ages?"
"Umm, I don't think so?"
Kamira sighed, "I'm afraid they are Vindicos then. If they use their magic without regulation of the Spirit Wand, then the world may become a victim of a destructive energy imbalance. They must be stopped. I don't know how; you might need help from the other magics."
"I feared so," Kooper sighed, "Last question though: who is their god?"
"Why, aren't you the interrogator," the magikoopa snickered, "Ztar. Their god is Ztar."
Kooper groaned. All seven Elder Stars are involved in Spirit magic in some form. If Plit's in trouble, then this task won't be as easy as he thought.
"Oh boy…" he replied, "Thanks, but I need to go."