Miniature Lectures
[Access Granted: Yggdrasil]
[Soulsinger Designation: Sabomir]
[Class: God-Eater]
ATTRIBUTES:
PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES:
Strength: E-4
Dexterity: E-5
Endurance: E-4
Vitality: E-3
Physical Sub-Level: E-4
MENTAL ATTRIBUTES:
Intelligence: E-2
Reactivity: E-3
Perception: E-2
Willpower: C-1
Mental Sub-Level: D-5
SPIRITUAL ATTRIBUTES:
Power: E-1
Reserves: E-1
Versatility: E-1
Control: E-1
Spiritual Sub-Level: E-1
Sabo blinked, stepping back from the glowing lattice of information that had hovered before his eyes just moments ago. The System’s—Hiwot explained it was known as Yggdrasil—interface faded, the intricate lines of light dissolving into the air like mist burned away by the sun. His head ached, not from the effort of accessing the interface, but from the overwhelming truth it had laid bare.
His Attributes, a numerical representation of his natural abilities, were low.
Pitifully low.
Hiwot had explained to him that all Soulsingers and practitioners of magic that relied on accessing the power of Yggdrasil had access to their Attributes. Attributes were ranked from E, on the lowest end, to SSS+ on the highest end. Within each rank, generally, there were then sub-ranks from 1, being the lowest within such rank, and 9 being the pinnacle of the rank. So, E-1 was the lowest of the low.
A deep, grinding rumble echoed through his skull, a voice ancient and jagged, like stone scraping against stone.
Sabo sighed through his nose, adjusting the strap of his pack as he trudged forward. His boots squelched in the damp earth beside the river they’d been following northward for the last two days, ever since finally emerging from the darker depths of the forest. The water ran fast and cold, cutting through the landscape like a silver scar. The trees that lined its banks were gnarled and old, their roots half-submerged in the rushing current.
What do you expect me to do? he shot back mentally. I destroyed every Maldrath we ran into back in the forest.
Sabo clenched his jaw but said nothing. He had no interest in playing Eater’s games. He focused on the path ahead instead, the river winding like a serpent through the valley. Hiwot walked beside him, silent as ever, her white hair gleaming in the midday light.
Two days. Two days of hiking northward, of following the river in hopes that it would lead them to some semblance of civilization.
So far, no such luck.
The skin at Sabo’s neck stretched, pulling apart until a fang-filled mouth formed. When the mouth opened, Eater spoke, “Hiwot, tell my vassal he is far too weak to properly serve me.”
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“Sabo, Lord Eater is correct, you’re far too weak,” Hiwot said without affectation.
Eater had enjoyed speaking to Hiwot, and Hiwot was always obliged to take the entity’s position on any matter. Sabo suspected it was largely because she knew that it annoyed him. He was constantly outnumbered two-versus-one in any conversation.
Still, when she wasn’t harassing him alongside Eater, Hiwot had been an extremely useful source of information. She was an experienced Soulsinger with military training, and had explained to Sabo the basics of accessing Yggdrasil. She had also attempted to impart a deeper understanding of Soulsinging.
“The fundamental elements that compose the material plane—Fire, Water, Air, Stone, Wood, Cold, Light, Dark, and Celestial—are also known as the Roots of Yggdrasil, conduits of energy through which Soulsingers can draw power from the Aethereal Sea.”
Like most of the times Hiwot had attempted to educate Sabo, it all went absolutely over his head. He sighed. “I’m not sure why any of that matters. The God-Eater devours things, I gain some skills and the ability to cast magic. Rinse, repeat.”
Hiwot simmered with frustration. She ran her fingers through her white hair, as though attempting to shake out the mounting anger she was feeling towards Sabo. “This God-Eater that you wield is unlike anything I have ever seen, and to think it has fallen in the hands of someone whose soul didn’t even have the capability for magic. Forced ignition… Hard to believe. If I didn’t witness it myself, I probably wouldn’t.”
Over their two day trek, Hiwot had attempted these kinds of miniature lectures a number of times. Sometimes, Sabo would just let her talk endlessly, silently listening along, just to have something different to listen to while trudging forward.
Some of the topics—the portions Sabo had actually listened to—had been quite interesting. For example, Hiwot had explained the different types of Soulsingers. While there was a near endless number of sub-types with specialized, unique powers, there were only a handful of Classes. Evoker was one of the most common: Soulsingers capable of bending and manipulating the elements. “This is what I imagine those two Morduin paladins might have been. Definitely the one who summoned and controlled fire,” Hiwot had said.
“And you? What kind of Soulsinger are you?” Sabo had asked. He still thought of the gigantic skeletal demon she had summoned back when the prisoners were defending the crashed airship against the horde.
“I’m a Conjurer,” Hiwot responded. “Most Soulsingers draw their power through Contracts with beings from the Aethereal Sea, called Sheyd or Shedim, and Conjurers are able to temporarily summon aspects of those Shedim into the material plane.”
“So that… thing, you summoned. It was a Sheyd?”
Hiwot’s mouth quirked into a subtle smile. “Indeed. Ugur.”
Now, Sabo would have preferred a miniature lecture. Instead, he was being reminded of how weak he was.
“Even this mortal agrees that you are weak, my servant,” growled Eater, using the mouth that now crawled up his neck and was now on the side of his face. The feeling of his cheek opening up, and almost meeting the corner of his own mouth, was unsettling.
“I get it, I’m weak… Can we speak about anything else?” Sabo said.
“Oh, don’t worry, little vassal.”
Eater’s voice curled like smoke, thick with amusement, sharp with promise.
“I shall help you grow stronger. And in an expedited manner, no less.”
There was a satisfaction in its tone that made Sabo’s skin crawl.
Hiwot, walking a step ahead, suddenly stopped. She turned to him, one pale brow arched. “Are you speaking of Physical Enhancement?”
Sabo exhaled sharply. The look in her crimson eyes made him feel slightly worried about his own safety.
Eater growled, the deep, rattling sound reverberating in Sabo’s bones. “Indeed, mortal,” it purred, smug as a cat with a fresh kill.
Hiwot’s expression shifted. Not quite fear, not quite excitement. Curiosity, perhaps. Surprise. Her mouth parted, as if she meant to say something—
Then they each heard it. The sound came through the bend in the river above. First a splash, and then voices. People, Sabo thought. Distant, but close enough to carry through the trees.
Sabo stiffened and then forced his body to relax. It had been a natural reaction from his time as an indentured prisoner of the Empire. Something that, unfortunately, had to be unlearned one hard lesson at a time. You need to trust people, you fool, he thought. Not everyone is trying to kill you, or enslave you. Still, he knew they would need to be cautious.
Hiwot turned her head toward the sound, listening.
A handful of voices, speaking low, clipped tones. Not quite urgent, but not relaxed, either. Not the lazy, meandering chatter of travelers stopping for a meal. At least, that’s how it sounded to Sabo.
Hiwot’s gaze flicked to him. “Do we—”
He held up a hand. She fell silent.
When he spoke, it was in a careful whisper. “I should go ahead and survey the situation. If it seems safe, we can re-approach.”
Sabo crouched low, moving through the underbrush with practiced silence. The river shimmered in the midday light, cutting a winding path through the land. Near the bank, four figures stood—two men, two women—dressed in sturdy travel leathers. Their garuda, great flightless birds with sleek feathers in hues of umber, greens, and gold, drank lazily from the water, their long necks dipping in rhythmic motions.
The birds were well-bred, their powerful legs corded with muscle. Garuda were popular mounts throughout Iardyss, prized for their endurance and speed. He recognized the signs of careful training—the way they barely twitched at the movements of their riders, the way their saddlebags were evenly packed to avoid discomfort.
Sabo felt an unexpected pang of familiarity. There had been a ranch outside of Solstice, a small family-run place that raised garuda and giant beetles for labor and food. He’d spent time there as a boy, earning extra coin brushing feathers and tending to the younger birds. He knew how they smelled, the sound of their low warbles, the way they kicked when spooked.
Sabo’s lip curled. No.
Sabo exhaled through his nose, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. No!
He ignored the entity’s sulking and prepared to slip back toward Hiwot. The travelers looked harmless enough. No visible weapons. No sign of them being soldiers or bounty hunters. This might be an opportunity to seek some direction and information. They’ve had to come from somewhere close enough to get to, even by foot.
Then a cold blade touched his throat.
Sabo went still.
A deep baritone rumbled near his ear. “What are you doing, sneaking about?”
Damn.
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