Drenar slowly turns around in the empty expanse. That soulful, deep female voice seemed to resonate within him, and he followed the sound to the source. Three meters away, there is a figure clad in silver and brass armor. The shape of the armor, and the grace and proportions told him a female warrior was hidden beneath that plate and mail of ages past. The intricate armor flowed with her body and without resistance lit intermittently by glowing yellow runes of an angular pattern that wrapped around the limbs, and there was only the barest sound of well-greased and hinged metal and fabric. She wears a wing-tipped helmet and gazes at him with curiosity. She can’t be any older than her late twenties or early thirties, with dark hair hinted at, hidden in the helmet and verdant green eyes.
Mom?
It's his first gut reaction, and that pang of seeing someone who had meant everything to him, but so long gone, brought a lump to his throat. After a second look, he can see it's not her. The gut-clench feeling is slow to fade, and he struggles to find words. The similarities between his mother and this woman are still there, with the crease of the lines in her face, and that gaze of warmth that he always associated with her.
"So, you're the young child who found her. Hmm. I suppose the young woman with the red hair did not yet have the courage to try. Maybe she will, later."
Okay, deep dive thoughts Drenar. You're in a fugue state, or maybe the Stranded lands, and there's a female knight, with knowledge she can't possibly have yet. What's the first thing you ask?
"Hey, am I dead, due to an ill-advised attempt to grab onto a magical sword?" She simply smiles at him.
"No. But you should ask yourself, where are you, indeed?" He's had what he feels to be a few minutes to think on this one. And a strong theory comes to mind. The lack of gravity. The vast expanse…just like the dreamscape, when he first merged with Alex. It could be that place. But how?
"I've got a couple of theories. The stranded lands, minus that eldritch void in reality. Or, I'm inside my head having a mental episode, but I'm banking on the former. So that means my soul is here, but my body's back in the real world." He can't get a read on her reaction. "Or does it depend on what I believe?"
That gentle smile. The similarity is just too uncanny because he's seen it so many times from her.
"Oh, you are clever. How did you conclude that?" There's an undercurrent to her voice that conveys great strength, even though he's not sure why his brain is reaching that conclusion.
"The stranded lands are a blank canvas, a world between worlds. I’ve seen it. This is the most vanilla white I've ever seen," he adds with distaste. "If I start hearing ‘A whiter shade of pale', I'm gonna scream until my throat bleeds." This causes her to burst into laughter, and there's also the slight rattle of metal plating.
"Well now, I don't think that would be necessary. Perhaps a change of scenery, to ease your mind?" She suggests. "Where is home for you?"
He wants to say his address, but…he already knows where home truly is. And he hasn't been there in six years, walking on those hardwood floors, the cozy bedroom lofts, and splashing in the stream in the backyard. In his mind, he can still see Julia's window just across from his, and she's waving, trying to get his attention.
He opens his eyes and he's there. He’s outside the house, on a crisp fall day, the trees are full of vibrant color, and it's late afternoon. There are Halloween decorations outside, and he can hear the call of a few steadfast birds nearby. It looks like it did almost eight years ago. The woman in armor is standing on the long grass, with just the touch of brown starting to seep in. "So, this was home?" she asks casually.
"Maybe it always will be. If you're talking about a physical place," he adds. “Though, if you ask me where home is, maybe it took me to a location that isn’t just a physical place.” His gaze does more than linger on the window where Julia’s bedroom is, overlooking the yard. "So, I have questions."
"You might not like the answers," the woman responds curtly.
"Alright. You look like my mother, but you're definitely not her, so who are you?" It’s easier to get this one out of the way first, he figures.
"I think you already know the answer to that," she replies with a twinge of amusement. The answer comes in an instant when he thinks of an old tome, an image drawn by a skilled hand. Crosomer’s hands.
The woman who saved the world. The answer that comes to him is shocking–words filled with reverence for someone who likely died as a result of his insurrection. Or maybe, from the time before?
"You're Lyssa, aren't you? My great-grandmother?" She sits there silently. He is at a loss, and he thinks back to seeing that broken man, and wondering how she died. Even Alex couldn’t remember yet, only bits and pieces. "I thought there wasn't life after death. And you've been gone a long, long time. No wonder you sent Alex away."
"Alex has a good heart, but he lets emotions cloud his decisions sometimes," she responds with a soft, heartfelt sigh. "I didn't want him to see me like this. The piece of me that remained."
"Piece of you that remained…you mean, the sword, it captured a piece of your soul?" He’s grappling with too many things of late, and his understanding of this increasingly magical world is woefully inadequate for the things he needs to know. “Something imprinted in the mana?”
It’s a theory. Mana is a very strange substance that doesn’t just have a presence in the physical, but something, and somewhere else.
"A piece of me was imprinted on it. It happens sometimes. Our souls yearn to grow but do not always know how, and eventually, we succumb to time, and memories fade. Memorials and writings are worn down by time, elements, and relevance. But for a few…we leave something behind." Her expression turns soft, and she glances at the house. "Ah, but it would take too long to explain."
"Why am I here?" It's the first question he's asked that's straight to the point. "And please, I can't do riddles or self-reflection right now. I can't. I've got friends in the real world who are fighting, and I need to be there for them."
"You're here to learn something."
"Oh great. This is the moment I find out how utterly out of my depth I am, talking to my imprint of a long-dead grandmother while looking at a simulacrum of my childhood house?" He sighs and shakes his head. "Sorry, that's not aimed at you. It's been a rough week."
"So she gathered." The way she says it gives him pause.
"Who is this 'she' you keep referring to?"
"Luminari, of course. You didn't hear her calling for you?" He's not sure if she's referring to a person, or the sword. Or maybe the sword is a person?
"I don't suppose it was this audible crystal-ringing chime that pops up every now and then, and a few of my other friends can hear as well?" She nods silently. "Okay, next big question. Is the sword…alive? Or have an animating force?"
"It's better to think of her as a living extension," Lyssa answers quietly. "Now, pay attention. She called to me, long ago, when scourges of darkness threatened to destroy our world. I answered her call, and wielded her as the defender of those who could not defend themselves. I was an implement of justice in a vastly unjust world. But I was not the first she called. Nor will I be the last."
"Look, this is all very entertaining, and I'm pretty sure I need a good head check after the pending crisis is resolved, but no one chose me," he countered forcefully. "I'm a mildly talented kid who spends too much time playing video games, and doing tabletop fantasy immersion with my friends on weekends.
“That all came to a screeching halt when I realized the Talons were playing with fire. They threatened my friends and family, and I told myself I wouldn't stand idle. When their actions threatened to cause a lot of good people to get hurt, I told myself, I wasn't going to let that stand. So I followed a trail of clues, putting myself in harm's way, all on my own volition. No one set me on this path but me. Which means I have no one to blame but myself if my friends get hurt, and I don't want that to happen."
"You know, it's possible to be chosen by things you don't understand or comprehend, and still have your own agency, Drenar. The path we take may sometimes seem our own, but it isn't always."
"So none of my choices mattered? Ah come on, there's no such thing as fate. Even as much as I joke about it." It’s unfathomable to him that things are predetermined. The very nature of the universe has a baked-in probabilistic nature to it, where chance does play a role in many things–from the recombination of DNA of parents to their children, to the vibration of atoms and their interaction with each other. "So, why me?"
"Luminari would not call to you if she didn't deem you worthy to wield her. Though…I didn't think she would call multiple people at once. That's a rather unusual occurrence."
"So you're separate from her?"
"Yes, and no. Every champion that has wielded her has imprinted something of themselves, a memory of a soul. But we are all tied to her." She's got that far-off gaze he's seen before. "What do you intend to do with her?"
"Right now? A psionic alchemist, who is right on the line between being harmful to my health, and a possible new best friend, handed her to me and bet the world on something happening. Which is really telling, because I've known her all of a few days, and even I understand just how out of the box this idea was for her, too."
"Do you trust her?"
"For my physical health, it’s debatable," he states flatly. "For things that really matter…the kinds of things that determine the lives of others…" he trails off. Why do I trust her so much? Is it because I see those eyes of hers, and realize that she must be fighting her own demons too, somewhere in there? He looks back to Lyssa, and nods firmly. "Yeah. I do. I think she knows the stakes, too."
"And what do you both intend to do, then?" Lyssa gives him that steadfast look, and he sees that determined look he saw in his mom.
"For starters, defend the people of Asqualia from the Talons. After that, I don't know. But…it's tough. I've got something that's holding me back. And it might get people hurt." She knew everything about him, he realized. His soul was laid bare in this strange place. From the darkest moments to the pinnacles of triumph.
"You dread the moment when you end someone's life," she states with resolution. He nods quietly, his gaze low to the ground.
"I'm not opposed to it. But only after every other path to peace fails, and not at the expense of people I care about. I've seen Valosterla, and what she can do. I want nothing to do with the way she revels in the violence." What he’d seen from her fills him with revulsion.
Lyssa gives him a respectful nod, and smiles. "Now that sounds like the making of someone who is worthy of Luminari's call. Remember, she is an instrument. She can guide, but she cannot force action."
"Well, I've got my proverbial moral compass. Or something like that. And if that fails, I know my friends wouldn't let me go down a bad path," he states with determination. He hears a slight puff of air nearby, and he glances over his shoulder, and his eyes widen, and he feels a heartbeat skip.
Joey is there, in the small meadow, looking bewildered at the surroundings. She finally sees him, and lets out a shout of surprise. "Drenar?! What the hell happened?! I grabbed you when you were in a trance and–where are we, anyway?" Then her gaze widens as she points, and no words come out.
"How do I explain this, um…I got an entrance interview for that sword I just picked up?" It sounds like utter lunacy, even to him, and she nods slowly while still looking disturbed. "Here, this is Lyssa, she's my–"
He turns around, and Lyssa is striding forward towards Joey, firm footsteps barely making a crunch in the grass. "Um, hey, she's a friend, definitely not a threat." Lyssa ignores him and offers her a firm handshake.
"I thought I felt someone tapping on the door, so to speak. You know I tried to reach you a few times." Joey is standing there, wild-eyed and still shaking her hand, and then Lyssa steps back. Joey is still examining her hand, and is in utter awe. "How are you, my dear?"
"Um…I'm good?" She offers meekly. Drenar subtly moves closer to her and has no idea where this could go.
"Hey, she doesn't bite, she's my great-grandmother. Or part of her? This place is a little bit, um, beyond my pay grade of comprehension." Joey gives a nervous laugh, and looks directly at Drenar. Lyssa glances his way and lets out a contented sigh. “Joey seriously, you look like you've seen a ghost.”
“Um, yeah, a little bit. Don't mind the young ki–er, young alchemist visiting a place I really shouldn't be.” Her tone is high-pitched. Joey doesn't get anxious very often, he figures, so this must be really strange to her.
"Fear not Josephine, if you weren't meant to be here, you wouldn't be,” Lyssa assures her. She then peers at the two of them closely, and Joey is close enough to touch shoulders with him. If Alex were not MIA, he'd be screaming about an imminent fire hazard or something. “Well, I can see that you are in the presence of good company, I'm glad you two could meet.” She takes a deep breath and smiles warmly at Joey. “You’re stronger than you know, Josephine. I think all you need is the confidence of a few good friends to see that.”
“Um, okay?” It’s almost amusing how quiet she’s become, and Drenar is pondering just how she must be taking this. Lyssa smiles at her. “I’ll uh…keep that in mind.”
“Please do. Hmm. I do sense that there is a call to action coming. Well, I must be off,” she says with that warmth that seems to transcend her voice. “Using this means of communication is taxing. Stay on the path of your hearts. You'll know the right way, if you're willing to follow it."
“Wait!” Drenar puts up a hand, desperate for answers. “Why us?”
“I only have time for one answer. Might want to think about the question carefully.” Drenar feels a soothing twinge through his mind, and Joey's gone dead calm, focusing on Lyssa.
“Okay. We're a handful of misfits against the entire world, why wasn't someone else called to the sword who's up to the task?”
Lyssa contemplates the question for a moment and smiles softly. “Because you both have the will to stand for what is right. Be a light to guide the way, Drenar and Josephine. Carry a beacon to a better tomorrow.”
She disappears as if she faded from reality in an instant, and Drenar is left with nothing but a partline that leaves him unsteady on his feet. He's left speechless for a few seconds, and Joey more than nudges his shoulder beside him. He slumps and feels a familiar tingle in his mind. Trying to soothe the turmoil in his thoughts.
“Drenar, what did she mean by that?” Joey is the first of them to speak, and he gazes at her, his voice struggling to work.
“Those were my mom's last words.” That pang of heartache is back, and he rubs at a pain that he can’t reach, and his voice is so soft that a breeze could carry more weight. “How did she know that? I mean, did you see her?”
"What I saw," she says with a voice that’s extremely edged, "was you talking to someone who literally doesn't exist."
"No, that was my great grandmother Lyssa–or, an imprint of her soul? It was so weird, she looked quite a bit like my mom, I almost mistook–"
Joey doesn't wait and grabs him by his coat and pulls him awkwardly close, and she's gone deathly calm. All other feelings melt away into slight anxiety of the purple-eyed alchemist getting his attention in a way he didn't quite expect to get so cozy, if accidentally. "Okay. I need you a hundred percent lucid right now, Drenar. Can you do that for me?”
“I’ve been lucid. Also, props on the word choice.” it breaks him out of his daze just a little.
“Yeah, from the little I know of you so far, you’re lucid. So, I have one super important question.” She takes a deep breath. “Did you also see the two-meter tall, bipedal draconic deity with six wings and iridescent white feathers and silver scales, also known as Gaia, the Silver Justice?!" There's a slightly anxious tone by the last few words, and he glances back at the empty spot where Lyssa had been.
"No?"
"So, who did you see?"
"I told you, I saw my great-grandmother." They’re both looking at that empty spot, and the reaction takes hold. And it’s definitely not the most intelligent thing he’s ever said.
"What the ever-loving fu–"
