Inner Outsider

Souki's hands danced over the runes of past texts; her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The temple was silent as the other Insinyurs were long gone for the day. Leaving the lab a sterile expanse of Iké powered lighting and humming machinery. 

A scene that felt alien and familiar. 

She had envisioned this moment countless times. A heavenly level of expectance for seamless integration. She believed her innate talent for Iké would be amplified once provided the highest order of Astran technology.

Yet, the reality was far more daunting.

Her first day; highlighted by a harsh awakening.

The other Insinyurs, each descended from the Alven race, were products of familial backing and extensive training. They seemed to operate with an ease that highlighted her shortcomings. Souki had always relied on her instinctual manipulation of Iké; which set her above the Shahari and Hurcs alike.

She, according to her knowledge, lived as an exception among those two races. As she had access to the Yaris formation before having any knowledge of Iké. Which, if isolated, proved to be an accomplishment of great proportion.

Among the descendants of a race that had centuries to perfect their techniques, her proficiency appeared insufficient. With the naturally formed gap between her and her new colleagues, bearing less resemblance to an easily skippable separation and more an insurmountable chasm.

This awakening realisation, lead her to her current state. One where she had spent much of the moonlight reeducating herself from the very basics of formal documents.

It was one thing to know how to weaponise her own Iké, but another to fully understand the way that other individuals grasped the concept. From what she had seen so far, she had determined that the scientific study of Iké felt overly complex—distracting even.

Insinyurs were the foothold of innovation in the Astran Empire. They were the unsung mechanics behind an ever-progressing machine. Every sheet of metal that made it to the battlefield, whether as a bolt-gun or armor, were all crafted and repaired by people like her from all over the continent.

So, in order to engineer gear and weaponry that could be used by all she needed to understand how energy was consumed by all.

Sadly, this meant that she would have to revert to the basics because most Shahari and Hurcs settled at that level.

Iké existed as the balance between the physical and spiritual energies.

Hectic, unequal but naturally occurring.

A power granted to all that lived but manipulated only by those with the sentience to recognise its existence. Like her, some were born with a near-perfect balance of the two; thus, having Iké of high quality. Meaning they were gifted with low effort over mastery of any of the two formations.

For most beings, this was not the case and were forced into one formation or none.

The first of the two, the lowest tier, the Vogus Formation, focused on the physical aspect.

This formation inserted itself as the cornerstone of Iké, relying heavily on the physical prowess of the user. At its core Vogus, acted as an amplifier for attributes that were already in possession. Which made the transfer of energy from meta to physical far easier than the other tiers.

This simple application approach made it the first ever formal formation. The oldest recorded usage being among rouge Alven tribes that used the formation to mimic the attributes of the wildlife around them.

For most practitioners, mastering Vogus meant enhancing their ability to levels beyond the ordinary. Power, pace, reflex and durability are all fair game. However, the truly dedicated can push the boundaries even further. On rare occasions, those with immense focus and rigorous training could utilize all four enhancements simultaneously.

Gaining such understanding grants a high-level of notoriety, to the point where anyone capable of such is granted a seat as advisor in the local temple.

But that remained a simple introduction to the extreme cases.

Under even rarer circumstance, a few Hurcs have been known to manipulate their physical appearance. Which provided Vogus specialists a wide berth of altering muscle mass to changing facial features, making them masters of adaptability.

Given that Vogus depended so heavily on physical conditioning, it became the most used among warriors in the Astran Empire. Only engaging in auxiliary training to maintain their spiritual energy.

As if the balance was tipped in favor of one side of Iké, it would lead to poor quality energy. Which corrupts the attribute that one was looking to amplify. Leading to physical deformations, torsion and depending on how poorly maintained the balance, even death.

Prior to these scripts, her knowledge of Vogus bordered nonexistent whereas it was the first formation that Insinyurs were introduced to before they were even nominated. So even from the very beginning, she was far behind.

Not to mention her being the only non-alven Insinyur in Remu, only added to the pressure. If she failed, then she would be made an example for every Shahari nomination to come.

She grew up in this city, it was her home, where everyone she loved lived.

It did not mean that she was blind to the disproportionately low expectations that the residents had for her kind.

Heck, there were no escapes to the indifference, people did little to hide their underlying opinions when they came to the brothel and her family did little to contest them.

Her selection, though expected, proved to be a surprise for everyone East of the Canal. Immediately taking her from daughter of a brothel to a beacon of hope for the Shahari who wanted to accomplish more.

This expectation proved itself a needle to her moral compass.

If she stuck to this, her direction would be sure and yet, a current of anxiety seemed to wash away her foundation.

What if she couldn't catch up?

What if her lack of formal education remained so?

These thoughts gnawed at her, a constant undercut to her efforts, but she clung to hope. This opportunity was rare for a Shahari, even more so for a Shahari in Remu. This was given to her because the Shiear believed in her ability and for this she would repay that belief.

Though her eyes burned with fatigue she pressed on, driven by the constant struggle of hope and fear. She was going to prove to herself that this setback was only a minor interference. Then she would gain the trust of her superiors, who in turn would nominate her for frontline repairs.

Sleepless but untiring.

This night would be made a precedent for the nights to come.

For the second time since he woke up, Relik had inherited a new tour guide. As Wyva found no reason to stick by his side beyond his working hours; abandoning him once the meeting was adjourned.

It was fair, given that they would be seeing each other every day until they gathered enough evidence to take their case to the capital.

His new Alven acquaintance, at least fifty years his senior, proved far less talkative than Wyva.

Yet far more focused.

They were charged with directing him to his apartment, something they were confident he couldn't do on his own.

After being thrown over a shoulder and carried from rooftop to rooftop, he conceded that they were correct.

Relik's view of Remu remained unimproved as they made their way to the other side of the canal. A cut off section north of the river but isolated from the affluent center. The number of lights seemed to decrease the further they got from central. The streets, though growing dark, had children sheltering at doorways. One of which they stopped by; the Hand just as quickly abandoned him.

The children none of whom seemed older than seven gaped at him as he stood silent at the doorway. Each of their eyes encircled by sunken holes; darkened by exhaustion. In their reluctance to react, he could hear their pleas.

Were they marked?

What could they have done to warrant such treatment?

He desperately wanted to do something but recalled that Wyva refused to take action as well. Most people in this city were blessed by the Astras. That alone meant that this was the right thing to do, as they would not allow such condition unless it maintained the greater balance.

Surely, they would not.

Relik's gaze crawled up the facade of the dilapidated structure. Its bricks bore the stamps of time—riddled with holes like the pockmarked surface of an uncared road. The building seemed to sag under its own weight, as if the very burden of existence pressed down upon it.

The windows mere afterthoughts in the decaying fossil, were framed by poorly maintained wooden shutters. These warped slats serving as the perfect angles for intricate webs, woven by spiders that had claimed this place in absence.

His breath hitched as he stepped closer, the air thick with foreboding. The door, a handless wooden slab, loomed before him—a sentinel to what he imagined to be a poorly furnished gutter. Its surface bore depressions of countless knocks and he lifted his fist to add yet another.

Knuckles met the rough grain, and flecks of dust shook themselves loose by the vibrations.

Relik flinched, retreating a full step as a colony of insects emerged from the cracks in the rotten door.

The children nearby exchanged knowing glances, their giggles finding jest in his reaction. Relik stared at them with a look of bemusement, an act which caused them to burst out into harder laughter.

His pride survived the hit but not unscathed.

"What the..." a familiar voice sounded from one of the adjacent buildings, "took you ages to get here."

The boy's eyes searched the buildings for the origin, before settling on the drunken Shahari advisor waving from his window a floor up.

Relik waved back, sure that his narrowed eyes and loose jaw betrayed his silent greeting.

The man then jumped from his window and into the next building immediately throwing his head outside with a wide smile on his face, "You can come up I'll get the place ready."

The boy placed his hand against the door and gave it a light push. A measured approach that helped him realize that it was far heavier than it appeared from the outside.

He threw his gaze back to the open window, assessing it carefully. Surely, this was the better point of entry—a direct route into the heart of the crumbling building. Without hesitation he climbed on the wooden sill of the lower casements. Forcing a portion of his weight against it to ensure it would survive the full throws of his frame.

Relik launched himself onto a higher ledge, quickly swinging to another before it collapsed with him. Eventually he flung his left arm into the window and somersaulted into what should be his new apartment.

He sank into the cold, hardwood floor. Somehow, even this surface proved more comfortable than the dusty floors of the Temple's basement.

He folded his frame into a seated position immediately making eye contact with the self-invited guest. Seeing him up close for the first time Relik felt himself shrink at the imposing figure.

For much of his life, Relik had been aware of his own height—a towering anomaly among the Von Vino Shahari. Their people often compact and sinewy, generally focused on frames that maximized endurance. He became comfortable with the blessed burden of his unique vantage.

But in the prescence of Councilman Logun, Relik truly felt the difference in stature.

Logun, a man of a lean frame and seemingly built for speed, stood as a living paradox.

A Shahari giant.

The man had a bottle in hand, already half empty. A lack of innocence veiled by a sheepish smile.

"I got this for you," he held the beverage out waiting for Relik to relieve him of ownership.

The boy ignored the statement and helped himself into a stance leaving the cloak to fall at his feet.

"I'm not allowed to have alcohol."

"Thank the Astras."

The floor creaked in protest as the two began moving around. Cries that threatened to dissolve under continued steps. The air smelt of the ocean with a reek of alcohol attributed from the drunken council man that followed him down the hallway into the bedroom.

Thankfully there was already a bedframe, disassembled and left to stand against the wall. Each of these walls adopted various levels of peeling or were left completely bare, all of this seen in thanks to a singular bulb held at the center of the ceiling.

His attention turned to the windows each in the bedroom were fully glass, as opposed to the rotting wooden planks at the front. However, they were only a slight improvement, as a cloudy build-up of grime seemed to be in the way of an undisturbed view.

Out of these windows in the faint glow of the sunset he could see a series of neighboring buildings stretching all the way to the seaside.

He made his way into the bathroom, the door groaned on its hinges.

"Are you done?"

Relik looked back at his unwanted guest, "Why are you even here right now?"

"This is supposed to be an interrogation, but I got distracted."

Relik swept the room for any blunt object that wasn't bolted down.

"So... I'm guessing they don't have a sense of humor in the West."

The boy paused, "I never said—"

"Your accent's a giveaway," the man stalked off towards the living room. His gait confident and timed, "also there's a small section of your soul mark that was done using Western rituals."

He had set his line, and Relik took the bait.

"You can read soul marks?"

Relik's footsteps echoed down the narrow hallway, the floorboards bawling under his rushed strides. His mind raced, fueled by curiosity—an insatiable thirst for information.

The man sat at the lone table of his living room. His fingers clung to the bottle's neck, knuckles white as his head was thrown back. A desperate urgency as he drained the last drops of his liquor, as though he forgot that he didn't have to share with the boy.

Relik waited in patience, a permeable facade.

His gaze remained fixed on the liquid as it disappeared into the abyssal existence of the madman. He took a breath, the anticipation swelling.

Then only to add to this tension, the man stopped to savour the flavour—or lack thereof—his tongue traced the rim preceding the smacking of lips in delight. Growing up on an estate named for its wine he had never seen a person enjoy alcohol to such an extent.

Relik stood silent eyes narrowing as this consumed more time than he was willing to sacrifice.

Finally, the man turned—a slow pivot, like a ship changing course. His eyes, a mixture of blur and sharp, locked onto Relik. The boy faded into the periphery, forgotten. Logun's lips curled.

"Yeah, anyone who's worth anything in Remu can," he replied, "there's some kids by the riverside that would actually tattoo soul marks on for cheap. People get them when they want to be left alone."

His eyes shifted to the window staring off at the lights of the inner city. The more he learned about Remu, the less comfortable he was falling asleep within its walls.

"I mean that piece on the back of your neck is the only bit I understand. The rest of it though," Logun's features twisted as though he forced himself to stop the other words from escaping him.

"That doesn't make sense."

"Whoever did this to you did not want it to be understood," the man continued, "which brings me to my real question. What is it like?"

"What is what like?"

"You know... living without the voices."

Relik's sigh carried an air of defeat. For much of his life, he had grappled with the meaning of his existence, grading it against the elusive touch of the Astras—who's voices remained distant.

Each decision seemed to abandon him at a crossroad that burdened him with the absence of their council. Countless scenarios where his choices would have been far more efficient if he could seek their advice. Questions left unanswered; indecision made a common feature of his existence.

"It's quiet," Relik began avoiding eye contact with the older Shahari, "sometimes I can just barely hear myself. How does it feel to have the Astras?"

"It's overrated."

Relik's head snapped over at the sound of such blasphemy.

"They aren't here most of the time and even when they're gone, you're never really alone."

The boy's eyes fell as his prepared explosion seemed to dissipate.

He was always told that without the voice of Astras he was cursed to not make his own decisions. Only a sense of duty that was braided into the fibers of his being and folded into every wave of his mind. These were the extent of which he was informed. Everything that he was ever told used his lack of blessings as the foothold of the ideals.

Yet two weeks out of the Von Vino Estate and every beneficial scenario that he found himself in, happened in spite of his handicap.

Perhaps they had found another way to guide him.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Relik remained silent.

"There's not many Shahari around here with the strength to make a difference," the council man let out a light chuckle, "and even though you're about to set people like me and you back a couple hundred years. I still admire the stubbornness."

"That's the secret," Relik smiled gaining another chuckle from the man, "I thought you were going to let me in on some alcoholic knowledge."

"I was about to get to the second part," the man took the empty bottle in hand, "Iké is balance and balance is just and unfeeling."

Relik's eyes narrowed themselves, before he could hide his confusion.

He tossed the emptied bottle into the air.

"If you can't hear you," a calm wind drifted through the open windows, "they can't hear you."

The bottle landed upright on the wooden floor its owner already gone.

Relik blinked, his mind racing with questions. He spun himself with wild glances and looked around for signs of speedy exit. Realizing the futility, he grabbed the bottle and turned it around.

Under the label he found an address and a short message that said, "Veech won't forgive you for if you're late."

With a bewildered smile, Relik took a stance.

The man was a drunkard, but at least he was honest.