A fractured dream, memories of Earth flashing like dying embers—ruined cities, torn skies, faces that can't be placed.
The dream slips away, leaving only an empty darkness, thick with an unshakable sense of loss.
Suddenly, there is a road of light, stretching endlessly into an inky void, with no past to follow.
Behind, only an oppressive darkness, where no trace of light can be found—fear grips the mind.
The light beneath urges forward, though there is no clear destination.
As the path stretches on, it begins to split—first into two intertwining paths, then three, winding together and apart in a dizzying dance.
Chapter 17: A Spark
Asher woke up, the soft light of morning filtering through the window, but something felt different. His neck, which had been aching for days, was barely sore anymore. In fact, it was fully gone—a few days faster than projected. He stretched, rolling his shoulders and massaging the spot where the pain had lingered. It seemed almost too good to be true, but as his hand moved along the muscle, he felt no sharp twinges.
Huh… must be this Beyonder thing.
It had been a week since he'd started adjusting to his new abilities. The dreams had become more vivid, the intuitive sense of things more precise, and though the process was still strange, he was getting the hang of it.
Feysac wasn't exactly unfamiliar with stories of Beyonders; tales of knights who could shatter boulders and priests who invoked blessings with a single word were whispered in bars and to children. Yet, for the average person, those tales remained just that—stories. Rarely did anyone actually meet a Beyonder, let alone become one.
Asher couldn't decide if that made his situation cooler or more isolating.
"Morning, Kaspar," Asher called, getting dressed for the day.
Kaspar didn't look up from their workbench, busy slotting a gear into place. "Ah, Asher! Morning, morning. You cook today, yes? No disaster?"
"I hope not," Asher replied with a grin before hopping over to the kitchen.
The kitchen had become his own small domain, a place of focus amidst the chaos of the church.
A sudden flutter broke the silence, and Asher looked up just in time to see a bat flitting around the kitchen, its wings buzzing aimlessly. Without hesitation, he darted to the window, quickly yanking it open in an attempt to usher the creature outside.
After a few frantic moments, Asher watched as the bat finally zipped through the opening and into the morning air. "It's gone," he said, closing the window behind it with a satisfied nod, shaking his head in amusement.
Shaking off the brief distraction, Asher refocused on the task at hand. Today, he was determined to step up his cooking game. He started with pork, the cheapest meat, carefully searing the meat until its rich aroma filled the kitchen. Alongside it, he prepared an assortment of vegetables—some familiar, some strange, but all full of potential.
As the pork roasted, Asher turned to the ingredients he'd grown to know all too well: the sweet nut and the powdered red root. Mixing a small pinch of the red root powder with roasted then crushed nuts, he brewed a drink that filled the air with a warm, spiced fragrance. It was an unusual combination, but somehow, it worked—rich and subtly sweet, with a delicate bite from the root.
By the time the meal was ready, everything had come together. The pork was tender, the vegetables crisp, and the nut-root drink was surprisingly comforting, balancing the richness of the dish. He set the table with a sense of quiet satisfaction, eager to see Kaspar and Otto's reaction.
Asher set the table, the rich aroma of pork and roasted vegetables filling the room. Kaspar, as usual, was already at the table, eagerly eyeing the meal. Otto, ever the creature of habit, entered a moment later, silently moving to his seat as he muttered a quiet prayer, his ritual before every meal.
Kaspar dug in immediately, making an enthusiastic noise of approval. "Good, good! No disaster today, yes!" he exclaimed, the joy in his voice unmistakable.
Otto, as always, took his time, his lips barely moving as he chewed slowly, savoring the flavors. Asher watched, anticipating the usual silence from the older man, but instead, Otto set down his fork, his gaze thoughtful.
"It's rare that a meal both grounds and elevates," Otto said, his voice smooth and measured. "The pork is tender, the vegetables crisp—unexpected, considering the local produce. And the drink…" He paused, a trace of surprise crossing his face, "A peculiar balance. The sweetness of the nut, tempered by the bite of the root. Unusual. Yet, it works remarkably well."
Asher blinked, taken aback. Otto's rarely shared thoughts were always deliberate, articulate, and often cryptic, but hearing him offer such a thoughtful, direct compliment was a first.
Kaspar let out a laugh. "Otto spoke! You hear, Asher? Food really good!" they teased, clearly thrilled in Asher's stead.
Asher sat back, still processing Otto's unexpected compliment. It wasn't every day that the usually reserved man voiced an opinion, let alone a compliment, so it took a moment to sink in.
With a slight grin, Asher realized Otto's words had struck a chord.
Otto, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, muttered under his breath, "Please stop looking at me like that."
Asher's grin widened slightly. "Guess I did alright," he muttered to himself, ignoring Otto's comment, and finally dug in, savoring the flavors.
Asher had spent days adjusting to the strange new dimension his spirit vision revealed, a skill he was still learning to control. Now, he could invoke it with only a dull ache pressing against his temples, though the sight itself still unnerved him.
The world seen through spirit vision was utterly unlike the one Asher had always known. Colors bled together in ways that defied logic, textures rippled and shifted in impossible patterns, and living beings glimmered with an otherworldly luminescence. Most auras were faint and unremarkable—a dim haze clinging to their forms, reminiscent of fog on a damp morning.
Each aura shimmered with a spectrum of subtle hues, as if the colors mirrored the emotions coursing through their owners. Shades of joy, anger, fear, and sorrow wove together in delicate, ever-changing patterns.
Those burdened by illness or injury carried an additional mark—a faint ember of black that lingered within their glow.
Kaspar's aura had been one of the first to truly catch Asher's attention. It gleamed with an intricate silver light, like clockwork mechanisms illuminated by moonlight. The precision of it was unnerving, as though every piece of their being fit into some grand design. Kaspar's aura felt cold, detached, yet undeniably alive in its methodical brilliance.
Otto's, in contrast, was a tempest of energy. The silvery glow radiating from him was wild and overwhelming, shifting in ways that seemed to defy Asher's understanding of form or function. It was a force of nature, vast and unrelenting, and standing near him under spirit vision felt like staring into the eye of a storm.
Samantha's aura, though, was unlike either of theirs. It burned with a burgeoning red flame, raw and untamed, flickering as if stoked by some inner conflict. It seemed to radiate an illusory heat, carrying a sense of indomitable will and passion.
A wandering priest of the Eternal Blazing Sun carried an aura that was unlike anything Asher had seen. Under his spirit vision, a graceful, golden flame surrounded the man, steady and restrained, flickering with a quiet rhythm. Unlike the raw intensity of others' auras, his flame exuded a soothing warmth, like the first light of dawn after a long night.
Samantha's fire, as impressive as it was, paled in comparison to what he had seen on another occasion. A man with perfectly styled blonde hair had gone the direction of Samantha's home a few days prior, his aura unmistakably similar to hers but far more intense.
His flame wasn't burgeoning but roaring, a raging inferno of power and authority that seemed to claim dominion over everything around it. It was blinding, suffocating in its brilliance, and where Samantha's aura burned with sincerity and resilience, his carried an overwhelming sense of self-assurance, confidence, and dominance.
The encounter had left Asher unsettled. Something about the man's presence didn't sit right with him.
The next day, he noticed a subtle shift in Samantha's own flame—its red glow flickered with streaks of black, shadowed by what he could only describe as frustration or anger. He hadn't dared to ask her about it, though the change lingered in his mind like an itch he couldn't scratch.
Asher still didn't fully understand what he was seeing or why, but the more he explored this new perspective, the clearer it became that auras weren't just passive reflections of a person's being. They told a story, revealed pieces of someone's essence in ways words couldn't.
The market buzzed with its usual blend of chatter and clamor, the air thick with the mingling scents of fresh produce, baking bread, and the abhorrent wolf-fish scent wafting from the fishmonger's stall. Asher moved between the booths with practiced ease, exchanging coins for goods and navigating the familiar faces of vendors and townsfolk alike.
"Morning, Asher," a wiry old man from the bakery called, tossing him a loaf of bread wrapped in paper. "Careful with the crust; it's sharper than your tongue today!"
Asher smirked, catching the bread mid-air. "Thanks for the warning, Alrik. I'll be sure not to bite too hard."
He continued on, weaving between the crowded stalls, offering polite nods and the occasional wave to passing townsfolk. The errand was largely routine, but there was comfort in its predictability, a rare moment of normalcy in his increasingly unusual life.
At the butcher's stall, the familiar hulking figure of Olaf waved him over, his broad face set with an unusual grimness. "Oi, Asher. A word?"
Curious, Asher stepped closer, his arms already laden with goods. "What's up, Olaf?"
The butcher leaned over the counter, his voice low despite the noise around them. "It's about my wife… You know she's been sick a while, yeah?"
Asher nodded. He'd overheard bits and pieces about her condition in passing but had never pried.
"Well, a few days back, I found her on our front stoop," Olaf continued, his voice heavy. "Anorexic, pale as death, barely breathin'. Like she'd dragged herself there from the grave. Took her straight to the ward in town, but she's not woken since. The doctors—bah, they're useless! They don't know what's wrong, only that she's alive… for now."
Asher felt a pang of sympathy for the man. Olaf was a gruff, no-nonsense type, but the worry etched into his features betrayed the depth of his concern.
"What can I do?" Asher asked, though he already suspected the answer.
"Tell Otto," Olaf said, his tone pleading. "Maybe he can… I don't know, pray over her or something? Anything. The ward's not far; he could visit tomorrow."
"I'll let him know," Asher promised, his voice steady.
"Thank you," Olaf murmured, his usual bravado subdued. He handed Asher a wrapped package of salted meat. "Here. For the church."
Asher nodded, accepting the offering before turning back toward the church.
The walk back was uneventful, save for a few idle exchanges with passing townsfolk. By the time Asher returned, the sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows over the churchyard. He found Otto seated in the main hall, flipping through a worn tome by the dim light of a single candle.
"Otto," Asher called, setting the groceries on a nearby table. "Olaf asked me to tell you about his wife. She's in the ward—been there since he found her half-dead on their doorstep. He's hoping you might visit her tomorrow."
Otto paused, his gaze lingering on the book for a moment before he closed it with a heavy sigh. "The butcher's wife… I see." His expression darkened briefly, the faintest trace of worry flashing across his face before he pushed it away.
"I'll go," he said at last, his tone firm. "First thing in the morning, before Kaspar or you stir."
Asher nodded, relieved. "Thanks. Olaf seemed pretty desperate."
Otto waved a hand dismissively, his gaze affixed to the text.
"Desperation often seeks the divine. I'll do what I can."