Olt walked for what felt like an eternity, his boots sinking slightly into the soft, yielding earth. The rolling hills, bathed in the golden light of the perpetual sunset, were undeniably beautiful. Lush, green grass swayed gently in a non-existent breeze, and wildflowers dotted the landscape with splashes of vibrant color. Yet, despite the serenity, a profound sense of unease clung to him. It was too perfect. There were no birds singing, no insects buzzing, no animals scurrying through the undergrowth. It was a landscape devoid of life.

  Olt assumed he was still within the Aether realm, a thought that brought more panic. How would he escape? How would he return to his own body? The questions swirled in his mind, unanswered. He consoled himself, at least, with the knowledge that he was no longer in the immediate presence of that creature.

  In the distance, a shape broke the monotonous horizon. There was a tree. It was impossibly large. Its branches reached towards the sky like the arms of a benevolent giant. The trunk was thick and gnarled. The bark was a tapestry of deep browns and greens, hinting at an age beyond comprehension. Its canopy was a vast expanse of vibrant green leaves. It provided a welcome patch of shade in the otherwise open landscape.

  As Olt drew closer, he noticed something else. There was fruit. Hanging from the branches, nestled amongst the leaves, were dozens of ripe, golden mangos. Their skins glistened in the sunlight. He wasn't sure if they were edible, if anything in this strange realm could be trusted, but the sight of them, and the promise of sustenance, was undeniably tempting. And the shade the tree offered was a respite from the unsettling openness of the grassland.

  He approached cautiously, his senses on high alert. And then he smelled it.

  The unique sweet but strange odor of the Indigo Tobacco. It did not have that familiar, earthy aroma of his grandfather's pipe. This was different. It was sharper, with a distinct, tart undertone.

  The scent grew stronger as he neared the tree, mingling with the sweet fragrance of the mangos. He held his breath, apprehension tightening in his stomach. Was this another trick? Another manifestation of the creature's twisted game?

  Then, Olt saw him.

  Sitting beneath the tree, legs crossed, leaning casually against the massive trunk, was a man. He was dressed in clothes that seemed strangely out of place in the surreal landscape. The man wore a worn, brown cowboy hat, a yellow-striped shirt, and dark trousers tucked into sturdy boots. A wisp of blue smoke curled from a pipe held loosely in his hand. It was the source of the pungent Indigo aroma.

  Olt stopped a safe distance away, his heart pounding in his chest. He shouted, his voice cracking slightly with fear and desperate hope.

  "Hello? I've been walking for some time. I haven't seen… anyone. Not even an animal."

  The man didn't startle, didn't jump. He simply turned his head, slowly. His eyes, dark and intense, met Olt's gaze. A faint smile played on his lips.

  "Strange isn’t it? But nothing to fear," he said with a gravelly drawl. "I was expecting you."

  Olt sighed, a weary, almost defeated sound. Was this another trick? Another layer of this bizarre, terrifying game. His patience, already frayed, snapped.

  "Are you him?" he demanded, his voice rising in anger. "Why are you so obsessed with me?"

  The man chuckled. He took a slow puff from his pipe, the blue smoke curling around his face.

  "Nero wants you because of what's in your blood, boy," he said, his voice calm, almost conversational.

  "Nero?" Olt repeated, the name unfamiliar yet chilling. "Is that… is that the creature's name?"

  The man nodded, his eyes fixed on Olt.

  "That thing," he corrected, a hint of disdain in his voice, "is named Nero. A fitting name for a sicko, don't you think?"

  Olt ignored the question, his mind racing.

  "Who are you?"

  The man smiled. He pushed himself to his feet in a single, fluid motion. His movements were surprisingly graceful for his size. He removed his hat, revealing a head of thick, dark hair streaked with silver.

  "I've been waiting for you, Olt. It's time to finalize your trip."

  "I'm still in the Aether, then," Olt said, the words less a question than a weary acknowledgement of the surreal reality surrounding him.

  The man walked from under the shade of the immense tree, his boots making no sound on the grassy ground. Olt watched him cautiously, but felt no threat. Instead, a sense of calm emanated from the stranger.

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  The man stepped close, extending a hand. Olt hesitated, his mind still reeling from the previous encounter. But something in the man's eyes compelled him. Olt shook the offered hand. The grip was firm, warm, surprisingly human.

  "I am Salazar," the man said with a comforting rumble.

  "Olt," he replied, then, a question bubbling up, "Am I one of your patrons, too? Are you an egregore?"

  Salazar chuckled. He nodded.

  "I am an egregore, yes. But not one manifested by your bloodline, Olt."

  Salazar paused, as he analyzed Olt, thoughtful and assessing.

  "The truth is, you were not supposed to break Nero's influence. He’s an unfortunate link to you."

  "Is it possible," Olt asked, his voice gaining a hesitant strength, "for you to communicate with other Egregore? Other domains?"

  Salazar nodded again, a slow, deliberate movement.

  "Because of your gene, you are, in essence, breaking the rules of the Aether. A virus in a simulation, you might say."

  He paused, uncertainty crossing his face.

  "Though, I wonder if you'll understand that analogy. Your society has… outlawed digital technology, hasn't it?"

  Olt, despite the strangeness of the situation, found himself relaxing slightly, drawn in by Salazar's calm demeanor.

  "My friend, Mariah," he said, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow, "she was right about her theory. Those with the Dormant Gene… we're somehow able to tap into the mysteries of the Aether."

  "She’s a smart one," Salazar confirmed.

  "Then why were you waiting for me?" Olt asked, with a renewed sense of urgency rising within him. "If I’m not…linked to you."

  Salazar's expression softened.

  "I felt sorry for you, Olt. Innocent of the crimes of your ancestors." He paused, his eyes becoming more intense. "But you had the fortitude to block Nero's manipulation. Many lose themselves to the fear."

  Olt pressed on, his voice gaining confidence.

  "There must be others like me. With the Dormant Gene. Others who have attempted the ritual…"

  There was a sad, knowing expression on Salazar’s face.

  "There are, but their Egregore often refuse to speak with them. It’s a precaution."

  "Why?" Olt asked, bewildered.

  “There are people in your world,” Salazar continued, “that know of Dormant Gene holders. Specifically, how they are self-aware when tripping. People like you can remember what happens on this plane. Powerful people want to unravel things that were not meant for them. The creator provided humans with the key to the house, but the house is a rental. It's not their place to pry."

  Olt considered this. It added to the already overwhelming situation.

  "But why was I different? Because my Egregore—"

  Salazar cut him off.

  "Nero is an anomaly. And, ironically, it ended up being a positive for you. You will be the first human to return with… knowledge… of the Aether."

  Olt felt a surge of frustration.

  "I don’t understand. If this isn’t meant to be why don't you just… vanish? Or snap a finger, or whatever you do and have me wake up with no powers?"

  Salazar shook his head slowly.

  "Because I’m not your Egregore. I can’t cast you out. But," he added, his voice gaining a subtle intensity, "I can complete the ritual, if you so choose."

  Olt remained pensive for a long moment. He still had a choice to make. He thought of his family, of the danger they faced, of the impossible choices that lay before him. Finally, he spoke.

  "I don’t know if to trust you. It’s been too much. I’m exhausted. But if there is still a chance, then I’ll take it. I don’t really have options besides this one."

  Salazar's expression softened.

  "You had options, Olt. You could have chosen the Ten of Swords. But you chose the Emperor instead."

  Olt understood the implication of the commitment to standing his ground, to fighting back, even if it meant a high cost.

  "I prefer not to intervene in human matters," Salazar added. "I have even refused to speak to my own patron-a dormant gene holder just like you. But… I see you as a sign, Olt. An anomaly. A wrench in both planes of existence."

  Olt's demeanor weakened.

  "I'm realizing there isn't going to be a simple solution."

  Salazar nodded.

  "Those who choose the path of the Emperor live everything but a simple life."

  Olt knew that much. He took a deep breath and attempted to comment, but as he looked up, at that very moment, Salazar's eyes turned the spider-web red of Aether users. Olt's body froze with a sudden, paralyzing rigidity gripping him. His eyes began to bleed, the crimson liquid tracing a path down his cheeks as they, too, transformed. They mirrored Salazar's unnatural gaze. His entire body pulsed with an icy heat, the same sensation he felt when Mariah healed him.

  Salazar spoke, with a resonant mantra, filling the air with a palpable power.

  "You will be granted this gift of the Aether, Octavius. As well as hardship, agony, and pain."

  As the veins across Olt's entire body glowed with the neon blue, a sudden, violent malfunction occurred. Most of Olt’s veins burst, like overloaded circuits shattering light bulbs. They left only the veins of his left hand pulsing with the unnatural light.

  Salazar, though clearly surprised by this unexpected development, did not stop the mantra.

  "We will be seeing each other often," he continued. "But in the meantime… you must fight…" Salazar paused, then, with a final surge of power, commanded, "Wake up!"

  The overwhelming sensations of the icy heat, the pulsing light, the paralyzing fear consumed Olt, and then—

  He opened his eyes.

  Olt was back in Mariah's living room, lying on the worn, orange couch. The muted sounds of the city drifted in through the open window.

  He immediately felt nauseous. Sickness washed over him so intense it made his head spin.

  Mariah, anticipating this, was already there. She swiftly grabbed a bucket that had been placed strategically nearby, holding it out to him.

  Olt lurched forward, retching violently. The bitter taste of the potion and bile flooded his mouth. He vomited, again and again, his body convulsing.