Will kneeled, offering his hand in acceptance. I took what was offered, slithering upward. The thought-light flickered as if to mark the moment’s importance, flaring as another drop of vigor met the spores within my mouth.
Lesser Core Skill: [Life - Vigorous Spores I] Increased.
[Life - Vigorous Spores II] Acquired.
His ore-flesh was cold against my body, an almost jarring sensation in how sharply it contrasted with the warmth of vigor. More drops fell, causing spore-flesh to swell in strength.
Lesser Core Skill: [Life - Vigorous Spores II] Increased.
[Life - Vigorous Spores III] Acquired.
He was shaking. Afraid. He tried to hide it, but I could taste the [fear]. Was that wrong? Should he have been assured, filled with faith in the Great Core’s plan? I could taste the [fear] on my tongue, smell it on his flesh, sense it on my scales. Was that wrong, or was it something admirable?
An offering made in spite of fear, rather than in absence of it. Which faith was greater - that held by the fearful or the fearless?
Another drop fell, the question still unanswered.
Lesser Core Skill: [Life - Vigorous Spores III] Increased.
[Life - Vigorous Spores IV] Acquired.
The hand raised, bringing me to new heights. Will stared at me, his eyes [resolute]. [fearful]. [committed].
Worthy.
I let out a heavy breath, seeping blue and gold. Will let in a heavy breath, swallowing it whole. A line of gold spread across his lips, two sets of blue twining around it in a colorful embrace.
I breathed again, and he breathed too. I made sure not to force him, though I could have tried. This was his decision.
His show of faith, a dedication to the Great Core - I wouldn’t take that away from him.
A spore sprouted violently, ripping flesh and tracing a thin line of crimson alongside its customary gold and blue. The disciple twitched. Gasped.
The other Coreless were making noises, the sounds bouncing this way and that. I ignored them, giving Will’s offering - his trust - the recognition it deserved. A hand curled around me, starting to pull.
“No!” Will barked. The hand stopped. “It’ll be f…”
His breath caught, rasping against the spore-roots caught in his lungs.
“Fine. I’ll be fine,” he finished, clearing his throat.
The hand let go. I breathed, and the disciple breathed with me, coloring himself in gold and blue. Lines split across his face, spreading from his lips. Ringing across his eyes - and then spearing them through, coloring the whites in their hue. He gasped again, fingers tightening around me. Flexing against my ore-flesh until they couldn’t anymore. The spore-roots reached there, too, and then everywhere else. He froze.
The connections formed in spurts. First a nascent thought-hiss, lingering at the edge of my thoughts. A quiet, burbling thing that I hardly noticed. Then their numbers grew, one becoming two becoming four becoming more; a horde of quiet hisses that, together, were nothing but chaos - until they ran together in full, becoming a single voice.
A single individual searching for direction.
I sent out the first thought-hiss, and my gold-blue protector found his feet.
The puppet stood, its body wrapped up in colorful strings.
“Erik?” Rowan asked.“Are you okay?”
Elara knew that he wouldn’t answer. It couldn’t, not anymore. A puppet didn’t speak; a puppet only obeyed. She stifled a shiver, reminding herself that wouldn’t - couldn’t - be her anymore. The Little Guardian’s power had cut her strings, and she owed him for that. Even so, she could never have offered herself in the way that Erik had - not even if she trusted that she would be set free in the end.
She just...couldn’t lose her freedom again. Never again. She’d die first, without a doubt.
Elara beat back another shiver. The next was even easier, aborted before it could even form as Elara’s emotions forcibly stilled. She closed her eyes and breathed, filling her lungs deep and slow, immersing herself in the sensation. With her senses the way they were now, a simple breath could be calming in its sheer complexity. Distracting. Soothing.
She let it out, allowing her eyes to open.
Two orbs, the whites invaded by veins of gold and blue, suddenly appeared. Close. The puppet’s face was slack, the strings it attached to having no real reason to be pulled. Elara’s hands reached out, finding the threads around its neck. Pulling. Lifting.
His necklace, hidden underneath plates of glowing steel, gently slipped free.
She took it in hand, slipping it around her own neck - somewhere it could stay safe. Somewhere she could keep it at hand. The shears that could cut his strings again, when all was said and done.
Elara could never have done what he did, agreeing to give up bodily freedom - not even to a trusted ally. She would make sure that, when all was said and done, he got it back.
That, at least, she could do. That, she had to do. Like they had done for her.
Her fingers splayed across the carving’s contours, assuring herself of its continued existence. Then, she took the puppet’s master in hand, bringing the tiny snake to her shoulder. The puppet didn’t move, its gold-blue strings keeping it in place. Still. Silent.
“He’ll be okay,” Elara said, as much to herself as to Rowan. “I’ll make sure of it.”
She stared into golden-blue eyes, the altered orbs as beautiful as they were horrifying.
“I’ll make sure of it,” Elara whispered.
Despite my fears, I hadn’t found myself as in need of a protector as I thought. Not yet, anyway. The Grateful One and I had set out into the mist again, our gold-blue sentinel trailing behind us, once again searching for Little Puppeteers. And, oh, we certainly found them.
Level 15 Little Puppeteer Consumed.
Transferred to Core.
Progress Towards Next Upgrade: 9/20.
Level 25 Little Puppeteer Consumed.
Transferred to Core.
Progress Towards Next Upgrade: 10/20.
Level 6 Little Puppeteer Consumed.
Transferred to Core.
Progress Towards Next Upgrade: 11/20.
Level 3 Little Puppeteer Consumed.
Transferred to Core.
Progress Towards Next Upgrade: 12/20.
With each new Little Puppeteer found, the mist cleared out a little more, splitting aside and welcoming clean and sporeless air. Though occasionally we would find corrupted Coreless defending them, that fact barely even registered. They were weak, and the only difficulty was learning to properly direct the spore-roots that controlled my protector disciple. Left to their own will, my spore-root infested disciple fought with less intelligence and dexterity than I knew he should have had. More than once, I was forced to intervene, making sure that the disciple’s ore-flesh crippled the corrupted properly.
Still, the spores infesting his flesh seemed to have made him stronger than before, and I took more enjoyment in breaking the sparse few corrupteds’ legs by proxy than I probably should have. I was sure that they would forgive me - if they even noticed. The only shame was that I couldn’t look through his eyes when I did so. The Grateful One had taken his [Little Guardian’s Totem] for herself, protecting my vulnerable spores from its healing influence. Instead, I just watched from my perch on The Grateful One’s shoulder, directing him that way.
With each new victory, the once-corrupted moved closer to safety. We had found enough Little Puppeteers that they were able to follow behind us in the path created, waiting in their zone of safety while we delved into the more dangerous mists to push the path further. That was good; it would have been time-consuming to bring every new corrupted back to be freed. With the once-corrupted so close, we simply handed them off to be freed and brought under the Great Core’s light.
In the meantime, I noticed that though I could sense the other three disciples elsewhere in the many-nest, neither the pair nor the single Coreless seemed inclined to attack. For a while, I had thought the lone disciple might have been intending to; the strange roaming had stopped, held still for a while, and then shortly thereafter moved towards us in an almost unerring line.
But then, just like that, it had stopped again - as if waiting for something. I decided to let them wait. With The Grateful One and Will at my side, as well as another disciple not far away from us, a single disciple wasn’t something to worry about. No, it was the other two that were the problem. They were standing still, too, but it was where they were standing still that was the problem.
It was suspicious.
They were too close to where the Lesser Core should have been.
Trusting in my protectors to guard me, I threw my perspective into one of the paired disciples.
The world shifted, my vision carried within another’s.
Zendran
In case you are unaware, the patreon chapters are currently in the beginning stages of book 3, so if you would like to read ahead to the end of book 2, please consider my subscribing to my Patreon!
Discord
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Will kneeled, offering his hand in acceptance. I took what was offered, slithering upward. The thought-light flickered as if to mark the moment’s importance, flaring as another drop of vigor met the spores within my mouth.
Lesser Core Skill: [Life - Vigorous Spores I] Increased.
[Life - Vigorous Spores II] Acquired.
His ore-flesh was cold against my body, an almost jarring sensation in how sharply it contrasted with the warmth of vigor. More drops fell, causing spore-flesh to swell in strength.
Lesser Core Skill: [Life - Vigorous Spores II] Increased.
[Life - Vigorous Spores III] Acquired.
He was shaking. Afraid. He tried to hide it, but I could taste the [fear]. Was that wrong? Should he have been assured, filled with faith in the Great Core’s plan? I could taste the [fear] on my tongue, smell it on his flesh, sense it on my scales. Was that wrong, or was it something admirable?
An offering made in spite of fear, rather than in absence of it. Which faith was greater - that held by the fearful or the fearless?
Another drop fell, the question still unanswered.
Lesser Core Skill: [Life - Vigorous Spores III] Increased.
[Life - Vigorous Spores IV] Acquired.
The hand raised, bringing me to new heights. Will stared at me, his eyes [resolute]. [fearful]. [committed].
Worthy.
I let out a heavy breath, seeping blue and gold. Will let in a heavy breath, swallowing it whole. A line of gold spread across his lips, two sets of blue twining around it in a colorful embrace.
I breathed again, and he breathed too. I made sure not to force him, though I could have tried. This was his decision.
His show of faith, a dedication to the Great Core - I wouldn’t take that away from him.
A spore sprouted violently, ripping flesh and tracing a thin line of crimson alongside its customary gold and blue. The disciple twitched. Gasped.
The other Coreless were making noises, the sounds bouncing this way and that. I ignored them, giving Will’s offering - his trust - the recognition it deserved. A hand curled around me, starting to pull.
“No!” Will barked. The hand stopped. “It’ll be f…”
His breath caught, rasping against the spore-roots caught in his lungs.
“Fine. I’ll be fine,” he finished, clearing his throat.
The hand let go. I breathed, and the disciple breathed with me, coloring himself in gold and blue. Lines split across his face, spreading from his lips. Ringing across his eyes - and then spearing them through, coloring the whites in their hue. He gasped again, fingers tightening around me. Flexing against my ore-flesh until they couldn’t anymore. The spore-roots reached there, too, and then everywhere else. He froze.
The connections formed in spurts. First a nascent thought-hiss, lingering at the edge of my thoughts. A quiet, burbling thing that I hardly noticed. Then their numbers grew, one becoming two becoming four becoming more; a horde of quiet hisses that, together, were nothing but chaos - until they ran together in full, becoming a single voice.
A single individual searching for direction.
I sent out the first thought-hiss, and my gold-blue protector found his feet.
The puppet stood, its body wrapped up in colorful strings.
“Erik?” Rowan asked.“Are you okay?”
Elara knew that he wouldn’t answer. It couldn’t, not anymore. A puppet didn’t speak; a puppet only obeyed. She stifled a shiver, reminding herself that wouldn’t - couldn’t - be her anymore. The Little Guardian’s power had cut her strings, and she owed him for that. Even so, she could never have offered herself in the way that Erik had - not even if she trusted that she would be set free in the end.
She just...couldn’t lose her freedom again. Never again. She’d die first, without a doubt.
Elara beat back another shiver. The next was even easier, aborted before it could even form as Elara’s emotions forcibly stilled. She closed her eyes and breathed, filling her lungs deep and slow, immersing herself in the sensation. With her senses the way they were now, a simple breath could be calming in its sheer complexity. Distracting. Soothing.
She let it out, allowing her eyes to open.
Two orbs, the whites invaded by veins of gold and blue, suddenly appeared. Close. The puppet’s face was slack, the strings it attached to having no real reason to be pulled. Elara’s hands reached out, finding the threads around its neck. Pulling. Lifting.
His necklace, hidden underneath plates of glowing steel, gently slipped free.
She took it in hand, slipping it around her own neck - somewhere it could stay safe. Somewhere she could keep it at hand. The shears that could cut his strings again, when all was said and done.
Elara could never have done what he did, agreeing to give up bodily freedom - not even to a trusted ally. She would make sure that, when all was said and done, he got it back.
That, at least, she could do. That, she had to do. Like they had done for her.
Her fingers splayed across the carving’s contours, assuring herself of its continued existence. Then, she took the puppet’s master in hand, bringing the tiny snake to her shoulder. The puppet didn’t move, its gold-blue strings keeping it in place. Still. Silent.
“He’ll be okay,” Elara said, as much to herself as to Rowan. “I’ll make sure of it.”
She stared into golden-blue eyes, the altered orbs as beautiful as they were horrifying.
“I’ll make sure of it,” Elara whispered.
Despite my fears, I hadn’t found myself as in need of a protector as I thought. Not yet, anyway. The Grateful One and I had set out into the mist again, our gold-blue sentinel trailing behind us, once again searching for Little Puppeteers. And, oh, we certainly found them.
Level 15 Little Puppeteer Consumed.
Transferred to Core.
Progress Towards Next Upgrade: 9/20.
Level 25 Little Puppeteer Consumed.
Transferred to Core.
Progress Towards Next Upgrade: 10/20.
Level 6 Little Puppeteer Consumed.
Transferred to Core.
Progress Towards Next Upgrade: 11/20.
Level 3 Little Puppeteer Consumed.
Transferred to Core.
Progress Towards Next Upgrade: 12/20.
With each new Little Puppeteer found, the mist cleared out a little more, splitting aside and welcoming clean and sporeless air. Though occasionally we would find corrupted Coreless defending them, that fact barely even registered. They were weak, and the only difficulty was learning to properly direct the spore-roots that controlled my protector disciple. Left to their own will, my spore-root infested disciple fought with less intelligence and dexterity than I knew he should have had. More than once, I was forced to intervene, making sure that the disciple’s ore-flesh crippled the corrupted properly.
Still, the spores infesting his flesh seemed to have made him stronger than before, and I took more enjoyment in breaking the sparse few corrupteds’ legs by proxy than I probably should have. I was sure that they would forgive me - if they even noticed. The only shame was that I couldn’t look through his eyes when I did so. The Grateful One had taken his [Little Guardian’s Totem] for herself, protecting my vulnerable spores from its healing influence. Instead, I just watched from my perch on The Grateful One’s shoulder, directing him that way.
With each new victory, the once-corrupted moved closer to safety. We had found enough Little Puppeteers that they were able to follow behind us in the path created, waiting in their zone of safety while we delved into the more dangerous mists to push the path further. That was good; it would have been time-consuming to bring every new corrupted back to be freed. With the once-corrupted so close, we simply handed them off to be freed and brought under the Great Core’s light.
In the meantime, I noticed that though I could sense the other three disciples elsewhere in the many-nest, neither the pair nor the single Coreless seemed inclined to attack. For a while, I had thought the lone disciple might have been intending to; the strange roaming had stopped, held still for a while, and then shortly thereafter moved towards us in an almost unerring line.
But then, just like that, it had stopped again - as if waiting for something. I decided to let them wait. With The Grateful One and Will at my side, as well as another disciple not far away from us, a single disciple wasn’t something to worry about. No, it was the other two that were the problem. They were standing still, too, but it was where they were standing still that was the problem.
It was suspicious.
They were too close to where the Lesser Core should have been.
Trusting in my protectors to guard me, I threw my perspective into one of the paired disciples.
The world shifted, my vision carried within another’s.
Zendran
In case you are unaware, the patreon chapters are currently in the beginning stages of book 3, so if you would like to read ahead to the end of book 2, please consider my subscribing to my Patreon!
Discord
(Make sure to select a role to view the server's channels)
