125 CXXV. | 'Diligent souls, abide...'

Ultimately, the conversation kept going back and forth between serious contemplation of their circumstances and fanciful distraction when no great revelations were uncovered.

At length, even Garovel and Chergoa began struggling to keep talking. Hector had kind of stopped listening a while ago, and without anything to pay attention to, time began to blur into itself. Strangely, it was the realization that no one was talking anymore that brought him back around. Somehow, the silence had become odd.

'I guess I'll just meditate,' he threw out there.

And it took a second, but then Emiliana said, 'Good idea. I will, too.'

'Alright,' said Garovel.

'We'll try not to leave without you,' said Chergoa.

Hector tried to focus. Instinctively, he wanted to take a deep breath, but he couldn't. He wanted to close his eyes, but he didn't have any. It hadn't occurred to him how much of a role his own body played in meditating before. This was different. And not altogether comfortable, either. It was almost too easy. He felt like he might lose himself here, like he was falling asleep on the edge of a cliff.

As he focused his mind, Hector could feel something different. Something he'd never felt from meditating before. Slowly, hesitantly, he concentrated harder, allowing his thoughts to be consumed by this world of empty space.

In a way, it was absolutely terrifying. Floating. Forever. Nothing to hold onto. No destination. Neverending darkness. And the more time he spent focusing, the more of it he could sense. A vast ocean of nothingness. This was a pocket dimension? Wasn't it supposed to be tiny? It felt gigantic beyond reckoning. Or was his mind simply playing tricks on him? Maybe this one remaining sense of his was wrong, somehow. It wasn't like his normal senses were infallible, either.

If it weren't for those three other souls there, Hector was sure he would have begun panicking a long time ago. They were his only anchors, the only things keeping him from being completely overcome by this unfathomable place.

Yet still, he lost time. And he could sense himself losing it, too. The strange, disjointed progression of his own nebulous thoughts was how he could tell. Sluggish, fast, sluggish again, then even slower. On and on in varying patterns and speeds.

At length, however, he sensed something else. A glimmer. A crack. In the distance. So far away. Farther than normal sight could have told him, surely.

Then, another one. Another crack. This time in the opposite direction and just as far away.

Then another. And another. And still another. Then five more. Then ten. Dozens. Hundreds? All cracks but all different, too. Each one rippled, pulsed, echoed. Thousands. Maybe even millions. Far too many to count, at least. And they were everywhere around him. Closer than seemed possible. On top of him. Phasing through him.

Where had they come from? Had they been there the whole time? Something told him they had, something in his one sense. Like he'd been looking through a window this whole time without realizing there was glass there. But now he could see the glass. Now he could tell.

This wasn't emptiness. This wasn't just space.

Hector's concentration shattered. He had to talk to Garovel. His mind yanked itself out of meditation with an intangible shudder. 'Ah! Garovel!'

'Hector, holy shit!,' the reaper said. 'You came back!'

Hector needed a second to gather his thoughts again. The sudden disorientation felt like he'd just been torn out of a dead sleep. Which confused him. Was that what that had been? Had he been sleeping? Dreaming?

He tried to shake it off. '...How long was I gone?'

'It's been fifty years! We thought we'd lost you forever!'

'W-what? I don't--'

'Only joking. It's been about a day and a half.'

Hector sighed mentally. 'You asshole... I was really about to freak the fuck out.'

'See? Didn't I tell you he had a potty mouth?'

'You sure did,' said Chergoa. 'How scandalous. And in front of a young lady, no less.'

Somehow, he'd forgotten that Chergoa and Emiliana were there as well. 'Uh--I... I didn't mean to--I'm s-sorry, I just... agh...'

'Don't listen to them,' said Emiliana. 'You do not need to censor yourself for my sake.'

'I wasn't talking about you, you narcissist,' said Chergoa. 'I was talking about me. I know I seem like a stoic monster, but I have the heart of a delicate maiden, and I can't bear listening to such uncouth language.'

'Right,' said Emiliana. 'Garovel, please tell your sister to fuck off. Oh, nevermind, it seems I managed it on my own.'

'Mm, I'd like to volunteer my services, anyway,' said Garovel. 'Chergoa, fuck off.'

'To you as well, dearest brother.'

'Er, uh, Garovel?' said Hector, realizing he would have to be the one to push the conversation in a relevant direction again. But he wasn't yet sure how to phrase his biggest question, so instead, he asked, 'How do you know it's been a day and a half? I mean, it's not like we have a clock to go by, so, uh...'

'A clock would be nice,' said Garovel, 'but it's not strictly necessary. I've just been counting, instead.'

'Counting?' said Hector. 'Counting what?'

'The seconds. Ever since we got here, that is.'

Hector paused. 'You can do that? That sounds impossible.'

'Only needs to be a rough estimate. It's not as hard as it seems. Plus, I've had practice.'

Chargoa barked a laugh. 'Sounds like a story. Why don't you tell us about that? Seems we've got plenty of time for all your long, boring tangents.'

'Excuse me,' said Garovel, 'but as it so happens, it's not boring at all. It's actually--'

'Uh--er, before you get into that,' said Hector, 'there's something else. Er, I think.'

'We're listening,' said Garovel.

'Well, um...' Really, he still wasn't sure how to begin. 'When I was meditating, uh... there was, uh... agh. It felt like this place... wasn't... empty. I don't know how to explain it, but I sensed something here. I think.'

'...Can you elaborate?' said Garovel.

'Uh... it was like, space wasn't... space. Does that make sense?'

'Not really.'

'Agh... I just, er--it felt like there was something else here. Or maybe that "here" was something else. I mean, I don't know how else to... argh. Emiliana, did you sense anything?'

'Oh. Um. Well, now that you mention it... perhaps I did. I thought I had just fallen asleep, but...'

'So you both sensed something really weird while you were neck deep in meditation?' said Garovel. 'That doesn't necessarily mean anything. Sometimes, the mind just makes its own...'

'...Garovel?'

'No. Wait a minute. Did you--? Would that even be--? Hmm. Do either of you sense it now?'

'W-well, no,' said Hector.

'Me neither,' said Emiliana.

'What are you thinking?' said Chergoa.

'...I think they sensed the dormant soul of the Dry God.'

Hector needed a few seconds to process what Garovel had just said.

'Are you sure "soul" is the right word for it?' said Chergoa. 'It's not like the guy's just sleeping. You and I would be able to sense him if that were the case.'

'You might be right,' said Garovel, 'but I think he's definitely still alive. In some form. And if he is, then maybe we can talk to him.'

'I suppose it's possible,' said Chergoa. 'But if he hasn't noticed us by now, then how do we get him to?'

'Hmm.' Garovel paused. 'Jaf'lah! Ai! Jaf'lah!'

'Truly ingenious.'

'Ai! Jaf'lah! Rasalased!' Garovel kept going, but Hector couldn't really follow what else he said.

It was a bit strange, hearing Garovel speak in Valgan. The reaper spoke Mohssian so fluently that Hector had never really imagined him speaking anything else. He'd known, of course, that Garovel knew a ton of different languages, but it was different, actually hearing it firsthand.

After a short time, though, Garovel stopped. 'I don't think it's working,' he said.

'Color me surprised,' said Chergoa.

'Yeah, well, it was worth a shot,' said Garovel. 'Looks like meditation is our best bet, then. Hector?'

'Oh, uh. O-okay.'

'Em?' said Chergoa.

'Very well.'

Hector focused. He settled his thoughts and concentrated on his one sense again.

It was faster this time. He felt his mind plunge down and down and down, felt it become enveloped in that familiar darkness, so thick it felt somehow physical. And soon enough, he was there again, feeling it all again, cracks echoing in space, breathing all around him.

Only then did he realize that he had no idea what he was doing. Was he supposed to ask this bodiless mass a question? He probably should have asked Garovel about that before diving back in. It was difficult even to think. Part of maintaining the meditation meant keeping his mind clear and just soaking in everything, but now his mind wanted to think while meditating. And he wasn't sure that was even possible.

Even so, he still tried. Maybe it was impossible to think in this state, but there was no harm in trying. Probably. He wasn't sure of that, either, now that he was thinking about it.

Hold on. He WAS thinking now. And it felt strange. Like he'd wrapped a blanket around his mind, every thought cradled in an intangible headspace. It was strangely easy. But he still wasn't solidifying each thought yet like he had to do when talking to Garovel privately. Maybe that would be the difference.

'...Hmm,' he tried.

And the whole world resounded with that one syllable. He sensed it--felt it. Each crack reverberated against his soundless voice, stirring all at once for a moment. But only for a moment.

'...Is anyone there?' said Hector.

And the world lit up again, trembling, echoing.

'Please,' Hector went on, 'if you're there, say something. Please.'

The echo hardened and sustained itself. It grew. And grew. And grew still more. And Hector began to feel like he'd been caught in an earthquake.

'On second thought, if you'd rather not be bothered--'

The cracks exploded, and a wave hit him, punching him clean out of his meditation.

Hector struggled to regather himself. '...Garovel?'

'Back already?' the reaper said. 'That didn't take very long.'

'...Did I fuck that up?' said Hector.

'What?'

As his sense returned to him, he realized that nothing was different. It was just the four of them there, still.

And then it wasn't.

An ocean converged on them. From seemingly nowhere, Hector sensed its arrival. Soul power. Endless, as far as he could tell. Crushingly strong, pressuring him from every conceivable direction.

'Oh shit,' said Garovel.

There came an unfamiliar voice from the abyss, but Hector couldn't understand anything it was saying. It had to be speaking Valgan, he figured, but it didn't sound much like when he'd heard Asad speak it.

Garovel answered the voice, also in Valgan, probably.

Chergoa was kind enough to keep them informed. 'Yeah, that's definitely the Dry God,' she said. 'Garovel is attempting to explain our circumstances, along with who we are.'

Hector had about a thousand questions, but he certainly wasn't going to interrupt.

'Now he's explaining what is presumably still going on outside. I'm not sure that's wise, though. It might be better to take it slower and just--'

'Mohssian?' came the unfamiliar voice. 'You speak Mohssian?'

'YOU speak Mohssian?' returned Garovel, sounding truly shocked.

'Yes.'

'When did you learn it?' asked Chergoa.

'When is when?'

'...What?'

'As a child, I learned. An inelegant language. Lazily structured. Full of hard noises.' His accent was incredibly strong, but Hector had no trouble understanding him. Every word sounded quite deliberately chosen.

Emiliana decided to speak up. 'How old are you now?'

'I do not understand the question.'

'Er...' She took a second before trying again. 'You just said that you have memories of your childhood. So do you know how much time has passed since then?'

'No,' he said flatly.

'Oh,' said Emiliana.

'Time is not time,' said the Dry God.

'What does that mean?' said Chergoa.

'Everything. It means everything.'

No one had a response for that, apparently.

Garovel chose to change the subject. 'Rasalased. That is your name, yes? Rasalased?'

'Yes. No. It was. Once. Is it still? It should be. Yes. Time is not time.'

Hector was beginning to get the picture.

'Do you remember the last person you talked to?' asked Garovel.

'I remember everything,' said Rasalased. 'Al'raml yatahmmaluh.'

'Ah,' said Garovel. '"The sand endures." Indeed, it does.'

'A petulant whelp, the last one was. Believed the blessing alone made him worthy. But I learned my lesson after the three. I looked into his soul and saw him truly. Saw his dreams. His intentions. His secrets. Just like I am doing to all of you now.'

'Oh,' said Garovel. 'Is that so? Well, then. I would say that such a thing is impossible, but... aha, for you, it probably isn't, is it?'

'My spiritual kin,' said Rasalased. 'Both of you. Very old, indeed.'

'Mm, you can sense that, huh?' said Garovel. 'Chergoa and I were born Lyzakks, yes.'

'Very troubled, as well,' said Rasalased. 'Very concerned. Very earnest. Selfless, in many ways. Ambitious, in others. Deceptive, too. Hungry for power. As all reapers are.'

'Hey--'

'I'm--'

'And the two young ones, let me see. Emiliana Eirwen Elroy. How anachronistic. Ha! A Rainlord! All is explained, then.'

'How do you know my--?'

'You, too, have a troubled spirit. Aching in all aspects. But also still being forged. Burning away remnants of selfishness. Of naivete, too. And there is deep worry. For yourself. For your kin. A terrible homesickness. You, child, have my sympathy.'

'Ah, um--'

'And the last one...'

And Hector couldn't stop himself. 'Aw, shit,' he thought aloud.

'Hector Alexander Goffe,' said Rasalased. 'The mixed heritage of a common mongrel.'

'What the fuck do--?' tried Garovel.

'And such an incredibly weak soul. Troubled even by its own existence. Twice broken, now mending. Desperately reforging itself. And angry at its own workmanship. In dire search of purpose and fortitude.'

Well, that hurt even more than he'd expected.

'However,' said Rasalased, 'therein dwells supreme selflessness. And a curious strength in weakness. Almost indescribable. How strange, you are.'

'Are you done?' said Garovel. 'We didn't come here to have our worthiness measured.'

'Yes,' said Rasalased, 'you found yourselves here by chance and are now trapped. And you wish me to do something about that, I assume?'

'Would that even be possible?' said Garovel.

'Of course. I will free you all once your souls have finished tempering.'

That left a brief silence in its wake.

'...Excuse me?' said Chergoa. 'What do you mean "tempering"?'

'Did you not notice? Garovel, for instance. He was exhausted and unconscious upon his arrival here, and yet now, he is perfectly well.'

'Wait,' said Garovel. 'Your soul was dormant when we arrived. How could you know that I was--?'

'Time is not time,' said the Dry God.

'Right,' said Garovel. 'If that's true, then why are we "waiting" for this tempering of yours to finish?'

'We are not waiting. We are talking. The tempering will finish after we are done.'

'But then--' said Garovel. 'Wouldn't that mean--? What? Does that mean you're controlling when the tempering finishes?'

'Am I? Perhaps I am. It matters little. Time is not time.'

'Uh-huh...'

Chergoa tried to intervene. 'I'd like to know more about what this tempering--'

'Young Hector,' said Rasalased. 'What is this that you have brought me? I sense its residue in your soul, so it must be yours.'

Hector was confused. 'Uh...?'

'An offering? Very kind of you. But then, you ARE very kind, aren't you? I see that, too. A deserving young soul, yours is. In need of help. But I have no use for gifts. I have no use for anything.'

'Please don't ignore me,' said Chergoa. 'Tell us what you mean when you say our souls are tempering.'

'Recovering,' said Rasalased. 'Simple. You were exhausted. Now you are not. But for the young ones there, it means more.'

'...Go on.'

'You will see.'

'Ugh.'

'You may be angry with me at first. But hold true, and you will see.'

'I'm sorry,' said Garovel. 'You're not being cryptic enough for my tastes. Could you add in something about believing in ourselves when the time is right?'

'Time is not--'

'Not time, yeah, I got it, thanks.'

'Brother dear,' said Chergoa, 'let's try not to anger the ancient warrior god who's able to manipulate our souls, shall we?'

'That's a fair point,' said Garovel. 'But I don't think there's much point in tiptoeing around him. Not when he's already staring into our souls and passing judgment on us.'

'Yeah, well, even so--'

'You need not fear me,' said Rasalased. 'I will not harm you.'

'See? What a nice guy. Aside from all the interrupting, he's actually quite--'

'Young Rainlord.'

'Um--yes?' said Emiliana.

'What is this shadow on your soul?' said Rasalased.

It was her turn to sound confused. 'Uh. I don't know what you mean.'

'A dark thread,' said the Dry God. 'Something watches you from afar.'

'What? What's watching me?'

'A demon.' There came a pause. 'Powerful. He senses me, as I sense him. He blocks my sight. He does not wish me to know his soul. But he comes for you. That much, I could see.'

'...Does he have a name?' Emiliana asked. But she didn't sound especially surprised, Hector noticed.

'He hid it from me,' said Rasalased.

'Well, that sounds wonderful,' said Chergoa. 'Anything else you can tell us?'

'You are all caught in a storm,' said Rasalased. 'Strength of arms will not avail you.'

'You don't say,' said Chergoa. 'I don't suppose you could help us with that somehow, hmm?'

'I cannot. But hold true, and you will see my blessing.'

'Great.'

'I advise you: do not fight. Resist, but do not fight. Hold true and see.'

Hector just heard Garovel sigh.

A long silence followed--so long that Hector thought that might be the end of it. There was still more he wanted to know, but he wasn't sure if he should--

'Ask your question, Young Hector.'

That one was really fucking creepy, Hector felt.

'Er, uh,' Hector tried, 'you, um... you mentioned someone earlier. Someone you thought was unworthy of your help?'

'I remember.'

'W-who was that?'

Rasalased took a moment to answer. 'Ease your mind. It was not the Lion you know. It was his predecessor.'

Hector couldn't deny that he'd been thinking about that. He'd only known Asad for a few days, but in those few days, Hector didn't think he'd seen anyone show more strength, compassion, and integrity than that man. Remembering it all made Hector worry for him now. Asad hadn't been doing too well the last time he saw him.

'I would like to meet the new Lion,' said Rasalased. 'I hope you will help him live long enough.'

'Uh--I'd like to, but I'm not sure, uh... I mean, how can I help him?'

'Hold true, see, and understand.'

'Uh...' Hector wasn't too big a fan of these vague instructions, either. It was funny when Garovel was the victim of them, but not so much now. 'Are you, um... are you really able to see the future?'

'Do you believe I am?' said Rasalased.

The question caught him a bit off guard. 'Uh. I don't know. Er. I mean, that's why I asked...'

And the Dry God chortled. 'So it is.'

Hector didn't know what was funny, but he was more surprised that Rasalased could even laugh in the first place. Everything the Dry God said sounded so serious. Apart, perhaps, from that moment when he'd realized that Emiliana was a Rainlord, but even that hadn't been laughter.

'In truth,' Rasalased went on, 'no, I do not see the future. I see only the present. But I see it clearly and thoroughly. And the present knows the past. Combined, this knowledge may predict the direction of the world, if only briefly.'

'...I don't understand,' said Hector.

'Unsurprising. It is not for the young to perceive.'

'...Does that mean I'll be able to see the future when I'm older?'

'It is not seeing the future.'

'...It kind of is, though, isn't it?'

Rasalased laughed again.

Emiliana decided to speak up. 'Do you know what is happening outside right now?'

'Yes.'

'The fighting, I mean. You can sense it? My father and everyone?'

'Of course.'

She hesitated. 'Do you know who is going to win?'

Rasalased fell quiet a moment. 'No. There are too many choices. But without all of you there, I predict the Marauder will be victorious. He will have much help.'

'Without us?' said Emiliana. 'What difference can we make?'

'What, indeed.'

Hector saw that one coming, though he was surprised there was no mention of holding true or whatever.

'I have another question,' said Emiliana.

'The answer is no,' said Rasalased.

'What? But--'

'You cannot stay here,' he elaborated. 'That was your question, no? You wish to stay and meditate. To grow. And return stronger. This is a reasonable desire. But you must not.'

'Why?' said Emiliana. 'If we're stronger, we can help. And time is slower in here, so--'

'Time is not time. If you remain with me, my soul will consume yours. You will all disappear.'

'Oh,' said Garovel. 'Well, that's unfortunate.'

'Thank you for telling us,' said Chergoa, 'rather than letting us find out the hard way.'

'I suppose that explains why you can read our thoughts,' said Garovel. 'Because they're slowly becoming YOUR thoughts, hmm?'

'Yes,' said Rasalased. 'I must release you now. I wish you well. Each of you.'

'Anything else to tell us before we go?' asked Garovel.

'You will be weakened.'

'What?'

'Resist, but do not fight. Hold true and see.'

'Great.'

The world shuddered, blackness and perception trembling together.

And Hector tried to brace himself.