Soren knew his limitations better than anyone else. He knew how powerless he was against the pull of fate. But, that didn’t mean he should submit.
No, it was the opposite. Because he understood his limits well enough, he knew how far he could go before crossing the line of no return… And that was exactly his plan. He was going to use all his strength, intelligence and every opportunity at his disposal to achieve his goal.
There was one such opportunity waiting to be exploited:
Tazzith’s contract.
From what he understood in regards to fate, the orbits and attractions that shaped his path were influenced by his Epoch Star.
But his Epoch Star wasn’t alone—it revolved around the World Star, just as every other individual in Yarian had their own Epoch Star bound to that same force. If one were to use the context of gravity again, then it would be logical to assume that one’s own Epoch Star also exerts this force.
After all, in the solar system, just as the sun exerts its gravity on Earth, so too does Earth exert its gravity back on the sun… All celestial objects in the universe have their own gravitational force, regardless of who they orbit.
By using this logic, Soren figured something fairly crucial in regards to how fate operates…
Fate doesn’t just pull individuals toward a certain conclusion, but the individuals themselves pull others into that conclusion. Just as planets have their own external force, Soren too has his own pull on the fate of those around him…
He witnessed this personally just an hour or so ago—if time could even be measured in the Faerie Court…
Julie, an individual whose fate should have resulted in her simply being a normal student was dragged into the Mysterious World and became a Phantasm… All because of her connection to him. Soren’s Epoch Star had attracted and changed the trajectory of her Epoch Star unknowingly.
The same could be said for the Whispering Dream—his fate of accelerating the end of the world intertwined with Soren’s…
“Gravity exists in all of us… So fate must exist in all our Epoch Stars as well… If two Epoch Stars get too close to each other, the forces of attraction apply… Their fates intertwine…”
The flame flickered above his head, “But how will you know whether that new fate that results from such a collision will be beneficial to you?”
Soren shook his head. “There is no way to know. I am not like those gods during that divination—playing with one’s fate like it's a toy…
“Let’s just say… What I am about to do is a blind experiment.” He smiled—the sight of it must have been terrifying. Soren could tell from his reflection off the marble round table that his eyes hid an ocean of madness underneath his amber irises…
“Besides,” he followed, “My Yarian fictional body—let’s call it an avatar—still exists in that building where the Whispering Dream was keeping me… The moment I return to Yarian, I’ll most likely be transported there again.”
Hearing this, the voice simply sighed and channeled [Fictionalization] to showcase what he wanted to see most.
A golden window pane morphed into being before his eyes.
Event Log
New Message Received: [Title: Contract?] (Author: Tazzith)
“Open message,” he ordered without an ounce of further hesitation.
The golden window pane morphed into the desired shape. Reading the message, Soren couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Fate… It truly is funny as Hurion said… I wonder if this will please the Whispering Dream, or anger him beyond belief?”
Cassia’s claws raged with dragonfire as she slashed down at another puppet. A few hours prior, she might have been more cautious in trying not to harm the person, but all of that proved pointless. The battles were getting harder and harder as time went on…
“Fucking bastards…” She grit her teeth as she stared at the lifeless corpse before her eyes—face covered in sweat. Trying to keep them alive was useless—even when she succeeded in capturing the puppets, their heads would simply explode while giving praise to the Whispering Dream—whoever that may be.
It was obvious to her by now that the person behind this was messing with them—he was doing it on purpose to force them into killing their opponents.
That Whispering Dream… I will kill him myself!
But before she could reach such a lofty goal, she had to deal with what’s in front of her. Another puppet was awaiting its turn to be pummeled to the ground—one that she was familiar with.
Cassia’s eyes narrowed. “So it’s you.” A silver knight holding two radiant curved swords approached her slowly. Every step sent echoes across his armor. Madness hid behind the visor of his helmet. Frowning, she cast a glance at Tyrel who was fighting his own battle elsewhere in the empty plaza.
The night was long and both of them were fairly close to where the Greenfather Ritual was soon to take place—no, from the sound of it, it might have already begun…
That only introduced more problems. They had been lucky so far that none of the city's officials and guards had caught wind of their battles, but it was clear that the opponent had no such worries himself—the Whispering Dream was bringing his puppets closer and closer to that area, forcing them to fight more and more in the open.
No, it might be more accurate to say that Soren was being kept hostage near the ritual. Cassia wondered if sooner or later, they might need to face off against the Church of Nature directly…
Just as she was preparing another spellform, her eyes trailed off to where the ritual was taking place… She was sensing a familiar yet strange anima…
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“Soren?..”
The night was lit with the torches of believers and preachers. Celestine’s central square had been transformed into a makeshift festival, with commoners joyfully walking between stalls, purchasing items and playing amongst themselves.
The final night of the Greenfather festival was approaching… The ritual was close to starting.
Virion stared at the distant altar—a man wearing a robe made of green silk and holding a staff of ivory stood patiently. He immediately recognized him as a Church of Nature priest. He then glanced around at the crowd slowly gathering next to the platform—his eyes scanning for anyone familiar.
“Where is he, where is he…”
After being tasked by the Saintess of Dreams to infiltrate Celestine, Virion for the first few weeks found it extremely difficult to find any clues regarding the perpetrator of the Nameless Mist masacre back in Yadria…
She, the Saintess, had obtained a revelation from the Holy Flower Maiden that the person behind the attack had made his way into the heart of the Aelloran Kingdom. Of course, back then, he had no idea that his investigations would once again cross paths with Star Fate Guild.
It had happened out of convenience—the shadow swordsman named Tyrel had approached him with terms to cooperate first because he too was trailing signs of the Nameless Mist being spread across rural villages of the Aelloran border. And somehow, whether it was fate or coincidence, the day they were planning on visiting his guild base was the day the Whispering Dream attacked and kidnapped one of their members…
And now, here he was in the middle of the festival, looking for that person named Soren.
Back when he first saw him in Yadria, Virion had no impression of the young man. Vagrant Phantasms were rare, but not a very exciting sight to see—many died from their own corruption fairly quickly, and the ones that survived tended to be fairly weak and afraid of authority figures, clinging to the shadows in order to not be caught by the orthodox churches.
Soren gave that same feeling to him. In fact, he was significantly weaker compared to every other Vagrant he had seen. And yet… His eyes hid layers of confidence that he never fully understood.
Even after witnessing the atrocities of the nightshade raid and then getting caught by him, he never cowered and begged for his life. Instead, he immediately read his thoughts and deescalated the issue, preventing a battle between him and that warrioress named Tina.
And when he was put to trial in the Subterranean Shunning Grounds, he gave up the opportunity for power from a demon without much hesitation and resigned himself to die in that prison… Most Vagrants he knew would have begged to even be given such a disgusting opportunity…
These were not the actions of an average Vagrant Phantasm… After he heard about the Whispering Dream kidnapping him, his suspicions about him only grew.
When the saints return from the expedition, I should inform them about him…
Of course, that was if he was even still alive… Their search has yet to bring results.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of the head priest beginning his sermon.
“In the name of the guardian of the forests, in the presence of the unseen forces of nature… We stand here today ushering in a new era for the one who watches over us all!”
The crowd of believers cheered. “Praise the Greenfather!”
“This occasion,” the head priest said with a smile, “Is a bit more special than the ones before it. Our offering this year is far more plentiful! May the blessings of nature reach us all!”
“May they reach us all!”
Glancing across the podium, the head priest nodded. “Then let us commence the ritual!”
Virion watched as a large bonfire was lit before the altar. Its flames soured high above—illuminating the entire plaza. The believers all closed their eyes in silent prayer as the nuns and church workers brought the holy materials they were offering one by one up to the altar.
Soon, those materials would be sacrificed to the Nurtured of Nature, the Greenfather.
As he was witnessing all of this unfold, Virion noticed something strange. Among the workers going up to the altar, one didn’t seem like the others…
And that’s when he recognized him.
“Cecil?!”
It was a man wearing a dark green robe, holding a wooden staff with carnivorous flowers blooming from its apex. At the bottom, tiny vines could be seen sprouting and spreading across the cobblestone ground… None of the people present had noticed it but him.
Virion grit his teeth. He knew that his friend was now long gone… What he was seeing was nothing but the husk of him—being controlled by a person from the shadows…
“I have to stop him!” He was most likely aiming for something nefarious.
But just as that thought entered his mind, something else grabbed his attention. In the building behind the ritual platform, leaning on the railing of the highest balcony was a figure shrouded in shadows… In his hand was a stave with three matte-black bells attached to the top.
A saint? No, Luvin and Silmar are both exploring the Avalon Ruins… An impersonator? No, that doesn’t make a lot of sense either…
Before he could think about it any further, the mysterious man shook his staff, and the bells rang eerily across the central square for all to hear…
Then, all hell broke loose.
It started with faint confusion, but the first casualty didn’t take long to be noticed. Vines sprung from the ground like spears, impaling everyone in their paths. Women, children, the elderly… They did not discriminate.
The blood of the believers flooded the square, dressed in the screams of the anguished.
“What is happening!?”
“Call the castle guards!”
“Oh Greenfather, save us!”
Salvation didn’t come. Virion watched in horror as the vines grew more and more chaotic and lively. They began to chase after anyone fleeing the scene, impaling them with callous resolve—absorbing them for the blood bags they were.
Dried up bodies dropped like flies.
Vines grew like a cancerous plague.
Screams spread their misery for all to hear.
The ritual was dyed crimson.
Virion’s eyes trailed across the macabre scene, trying to find any hint or clue to the whereabouts of his friend Cecil… He had lost track of him during the initial chaos.
I have to stop him! Fast!
Cecil’s Soul Weapon, The Crimson Root, allows him to manifest vines that draw the blood of his victims. The siphoned ichor would then be used to summon countless floral horrors, from man-eating plants to poisonous mushroom trees that spread their spores in the air…
Such an ability… it flourished in densely populated areas. Of course, the friend he knew would have never even imagined using it in such a horrific way… Cecil was one of the kindest souls he knew in the Nightshade Court—someone who never hesitated to do the right thing…
Virion raced ahead into the blood field, looking for any signs of his long-gone friend. His Soul Weapon sliced through countless vines, but it was no use. He couldn’t see him anywhere. Worse, he had to ignore all the civilians asking for help.
There was no stopping the vines from growing. The only way to put an end to this massacre was through killing the wielder of the Soul Weapon… And, he had a faint idea of where he was.
The ritual altar.
He had seen him before the chaos started heading in that direction with the other workers.
Gathering his anima, Virion used his crimson daggers to slice his way forward one step at a time. His senses, honed to a razor’s edge, focused on only the enemy before him. The screams of anguish from those around him were all filtered out—all that remained in his mind was to slice, slice and slice even more. He had to become an emotionless blade to maneuver across the battlefield—the vines were outnumbering him one to a thousand.
A single wound could be fatal—his blood wasn’t infinite after all.
It took a bit of effort, but it worked. He broke through the sea of vines on the other side of the central square covered in tiny cuts from the sharp thorns. His weary eyes trailed up to the ritual altar where the head-priest was using all the incantations he had at his disposal to protect those around him, but it was no use. Cecil was too strong for him to handle.
Curses! Virion raced up the steps, but that’s when he noticed something. A strange and fragrant aroma filled the air… He could almost taste it. For some reason, his mind couldn’t help but want to fall asleep…
Shaking the mesmerizing thoughts away, he glanced up at the balcony where he first spotted the strange saint-like figure. The balcony was unnaturally illuminated, with countless tiny butterflies flying out into the field below. Then, something even stranger happened. All the vines stopped.
It felt as if time had frozen over the bloodied square.