We rise, legs protesting, and trudge forward. Dust crunches under each step, a constant reminder of the world crumbling around us. The weight of our situation presses down, but I shove it aside, focusing on the path ahead.

"We need to cross the river," Abeni says, her voice tight. "It leads to the Fringe societies, but the current's strong."

Surprise jolts me. "How do you know?"

She gestures to the churning water. "The stream is faster in the middle, the river is shallow" A flicker of something else crosses her face, a guarded expression I can't decipher.

"No," I press, "How do you know about the Fringe societies? I thought you were Natural?"

Abeni sighs, a heavy sound. "Yes, I am...... was," she corrects, a hint of bitterness in her voice. "Coming-of-age traditions in Scopus involve studying maps, you see."

"You are a Scorpus?" My mind scrambles. This revelation doesn't mesh with the Abeni I thought I knew.

"Look," she snaps, her facade cracking, "can we discuss this later? Now's not the time."

I nod curtly, stifling further questions. The churning river awaits, a dangerous obstacle on our perilous journey. We reach the bank, the current a hungry beast. Abeni was right - it looks treacherous. Yet, fueled by adrenaline and a desperate hope, we manage a swift crossing, collapsing on the far shore with ragged breaths.

Dawn's pale fingers stretch across the sky, pushing back the velvet cloak of night. I blink, the world shimmering for a moment before solidifying into focus. Sunlight catches the dew-kissed tips of emerald grass blades, glinting like a million tiny emeralds scattered across the earth.

Abeni kneels beside me, her dark eyes mirroring the sunrise in their depths. She inhales deeply. "Do you smell that?" she asks, her voice a soft ripple in the stillness.

"Smell what?" I ask, following her lead and taking a deep breath.

"I don't know," she responds, a contemplative frown creasing her brow. "It smells... like earth. But different."

"No VR can replicate this," I murmur, a sense of wonder washing over me. I reach out, fingertips brushing the cool, damp grass. It feels rough against my skin, a stark contrast to the smooth simulations I'm used to. But the realness of it sends a jolt of exhilaration through me.

The sky above is a masterpiece in progress, a mesmerizing blend of soft apricot bleeding into fiery orange, then melting into a vibrant turquoise that stretches towards the horizon like an open invitation. Every breath fills me with the scent of the earth - a spicy, green fragrance laced with the sweetness of wildflowers unknown to me except in data streams.

Abeni laughs, a joyous sound that echoes in the vastness. She stands, inhaling deeply, then her smile falters. "They are all dead..." she sighs, her voice heavy with grief.

"We don't know that," I counter, frustration bubbling within me at the intrusion into this peaceful moment. "We took a hidden route, others could have done the same. Maybe they're still alive."

She takes a shaky breath, and I scoot closer, mirroring her action. "Look," I begin softly, breaking the silence, "we're here now. Let's embrace this moment, appreciate its beauty for what it is." I gesture towards the horizon. "This is beyond any pixel count VR can create."

"Yes," she whispers.

We continue our walk, the scent of the earth, spicy and green, hangs heavy in the air, laced with the delicate sweetness of alien wildflowers. Suddenly, a strangled yelp pierces the tranquility of dawn. I whirl around to find Abeni sprawled on the ground, a tangled mess of limbs amidst the emerald blades.

For a heartbeat, silence holds its breath. I frown, a prickle of annoyance stirring inside me. We're lost, the city a smoldering ghost behind us, and she can't immediately pick herself up? I walk a few steps closer, ready to deliver a pep talk, expecting tears and trembling lips.

But the face that turns up to me isn't tear-streaked, it's split wide with laughter. Laughter that bubbles in her chest, erupts in choked gasps, and shakes her like a wind-whipped reed.

"B-bug...!" she manages between giggles, pointing a finger at her chest. " And I tripped on a fucking..... pixel, root. Real, this is all real!" and continues laughing.

The absurdity of it catches me, and I find myself laughing too. Laughter washes over me, warm and bright like the sunrise bleeding across the sky. But beneath it, something cracks open, a raw tremor I've never felt in the sterile perfection of VR.

"A bug?" I ask, with amusement. "Are you okay?"

The laughter hitches, morphing into a sob. Tears squeeze between her eyelashes, glittering jewels in the morning light. "No," she whispers, the air thick with her despair. "No, I'm not. I'm not like you, Eden. You're strong, you know what to do. Me... I just have to feel everything, even the stupid things like tripping on roots and bugs in my throat."

She curls in on herself, the vastness of the sky emphasizing her fragility. My stomach twists, the weight of our situation crashing down. We're adrift in a world shattered beyond recognition and I don't feel anything, but I need to acknowledge that she feels.

I sink down beside her, pull her close, the scent of wildflowers filling my lungs. "No," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "That's what makes you strong, Aby. Feeling it all, the good, the bad, the funny, the terrifying. That's how we'll survive. That's how we'll find our way."

The sun climbs higher, painting the world in fiery gold. I know she's right. The path ahead is uncertain, riddled with roots and maybe even the occasional bug, but together, we might just make it, One wobbly step at a time, one shared laugh and tear at a time. And who knows, maybe that's the kind of strength we need most in this real, messy world.

"Come," Abeni starts after she gathers herself, "I know where we can go."

We come to a bunker that gapes like a toothless maw in the hillside, promising respite from the relentless sun. Abeni dives in first, swallowed by the cool, earthy darkness. I follow, heart drumming a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

Dust hangs heavy in the air, illuminated by a single sputtering lantern that casts long, distorted shadows. Abeni moves with practiced grace, a ghost in familiar terrain, her fingers brushing the rough-hewn walls as if seeking echoes of forgotten stories.

My eyes, struggling to adjust to the dimness, make out the skeletal remains of provisions clinging to empty shelves like ribs stripped bare. In the corner, a rusty cot leans against the wall, its tattered mattress whispering of restless nights.

Abeni reaches the back wall, its surface slick with moisture, and sinks to the floor. Her breath releases in a slow sigh, a mix of relief and something deeper, a weight settling in her bones like unspoken grief.

I stand frozen in the doorway, watching. The lantern's meager light paints Abeni's face in stark relief, highlighting the exhaustion etched around her eyes. The laughter of moments ago has vanished, replaced by a raw vulnerability.

The silence stretches, thick and heavy, broken only by the insistent drip-drip-drip of unseen water seeping through the earth. Abeni speaks first, her voice a husky whisper carried by the damp air.

"The Scorpus used to come through here," she murmurs, more to the shadows than to me. "A stop-off on their way to Arcane."

I crane my neck, searching for the source of the dripping sound.

"Remember those movies we watched from the ancient world, the horror ones?" Abeni starts, a shift in the conversation.

"Yeah," I reply, "those were the favorites, weren't they?"

She shakes her head. "Not mine. They scared me to death."

"Then why keep watching them?" I ask, surprised.

"I don't know," she admits, a shrug in her voice. "Everyone loved them, so I guess I thought I should too."

She falls silent again, the drip-drip-drip filling the space between us.

"Have you ever wondered what it was like," she asks after a moment, "to believe? Like those heroes in the movies?"

"Why do you ask?"

"They had faith," she explains, her voice tinged with a strange longing. "Faith in books and crosses and the holy water. They could banish evil, make it disappear, and everything went back to normal. That's what they needed, wasn't it? Faith in a higher power."

"I don't know if faith ever truly solved anything," I counter thoughtfully.

"Why not?" she challenges.

"Because the ability to banish evil seemed to be tied to how strong someone's faith was. So really, it was the people with the power, not the book, cross, holy water or name they clung to. If you have that power, why give it away by believing it comes from something other than yourself? Aren't you just weakening yourself?"

Abeni pauses, considering my words. "I never thought of it that way."

"I never saw it any other way," I admit, surprised by the realization myself.

"But... how are we supposed to survive?" she asks, despair creeping into her voice. "There are just the two of us. I'm not strong enough for this."

"You're right," I say gently, "you aren't strong enough for this. But you're also more."

Confusion clouds her features. "More?" she sniffs.

"Something a friend once told me," I explain. "I've noticed it's hard to convince people of their own worth when they are absolutely convinced of their own unworthiness. My friend had a trick - to look beyond the horizon. You don't have to convince yourself you're not weak, you just need to know you're more than your weaknesses."

A weak chuckle escapes her lips. "Okay," she concedes, a flicker of a smile gracing her face for the first time in a while. "I can work with that. So, what's next?"

"There are other societies in Fringera. If we can reach one, we can blend in, live the rest of our lives..." My voice trails off as I clutch the necklace at my throat, the weight of the knowledge it holds a stark reminder of the burden and the potential it carries.

The wilderness stretches before us, a vast canvas painted in shades of green and brown. Abeni, ever vigilant, warns of razor-clawed predators and territorial societies we must avoid. Setting up camp one night, she shares forgotten lore - survival secrets bartered by the Scorpus nomads. Huddled by the crackling fire, we trade stories of the diverse societies we've encountered, their customs as varied as the constellations splashed across the star-dusted canvas above.

Years. That's how long I'd been cocooned within Arcane's sterile walls. Now, the vastness overwhelms me - both terrifying and exhilarating. Danger lurks everywhere, yet a sense of liberation washes over me. No longer bound by the city's stifling rules, I'm learning more about the world with each step, each sunrise a new chapter in an unimaginable story.

Months blur together, a relentless march through treacherous landscapes and punishing weather. Abeni, raised in sheltered luxury, struggles at first. Yet, her intellect, honed during her Scorpius initiation, proves invaluable. We dodge dangers both natural and manmade.

In the distance, a vibrant splash of color against the muted landscape: a camp, tents fashioned from animal pelts. But it's the inhabitants that send shivers down my spine. Dressed in a riot of reds, oranges, greens, and blues, they wield spears and bows. An unsettling familiarity tugs at the edges of my memory.

"Raiders," Abeni hisses, her voice barely a whisper.

"We can avoid them," I assure her, a knot of unease twisting in my gut.

We detour through a decaying city, the silence broken only by our echoing footsteps. Graffiti mars the walls; broken windows gape like empty eyes. An oppressive sense of being watched clings to us like a shroud.

Rounding a corner, we stumble upon a man in a simple green tunic with trousers, adorned with delicate herb embroidery. Relief washes over me. Just a local relieving himself.

But Abeni freezes, a terrifying transformation washing over her features. Before I can react, the man turns, sees us, and raises his right hand in a gesture I vaguely recognize, reminding me of my first encounter with the raiders...... .and my father.

"Yes," I whisper, a cold dread settling in my stomach mired with confusion. "Raiders, but why the greeting?"

Panic surges as I reach for my knife. But Abeni is faster. With a feral cry, she launches herself at the man, plunging her knife into his chest.

As if from nowhere, the camp erupts. Armed figures materialize around us, their faces a mask of fury and confusion. I rush to the aid of the fallen man, the futility of my actions a bitter pill to swallow.

"Eden, what are you doing?" Abeni screams, her voice laced with disbelief.

"He wasn't going to hurt us! He was offering peace!"

"Peace?" she spat. "Raiders know nothing of peace!'

"Do not call us that!" A booming voice commands.

Abeni's bravado crumbles, replaced by raw terror. I turn to see the man, his lifeblood staining the dusty ground.

"Why, Aby?" I gasp, desperation lacing my voice. "He wasn't a direct threat!"

She stares at me, her eyes vacant. "I don't know," she whispers, a broken doll. "I just... I wanted the feeling to stop. Someone had to pay."

The weight of her words settles on me like a shroud. How do we escape this mess? My mind races, searching for a way out.

We follow their instructions, hearts hammering against our ribs, ushered into a stifling tent. Arisma's words echo in my mind, a grim reminder of her interpretation of nomadic justice. Can they hold prisoners? Or are we facing a harsher fate?

The news arrives swiftly, carried by a young man in red tunic and trousers with woven bracelets in shades of green and brown, with small metal charms shaped like leaves and acorns, and In his hair, he wears a single braid, bound with a leather cord and adorned with small wooden beads in shades of green and brown. Micel, the man Abeni attacked, is dead. Abeni crumbles, a torrent of apologies spilling from her lips. But all I can feel is a cold dread.

Escape! The thought burrows into my mind, a desperate plan forming. Abeni, lost in her grief, would only slow me down. The knowledge pebbles - they can't fall into the wrong hands. But for who am I protecting them? A bitter question with no answer. Perhaps they can buy my freedom.

The young man returns, setting down food and drink with a stoic expression. We're leaving for their 'home world' for judgment. Abeni dissolves into sobs, clinging to me. Irritation flares, a stark contrast to the icy knot of fear twisting in my gut. This mess - it's all her fault. And now, it's me who has to clean it up.

We breach the settlement's perimeter, a towering wooden wall snaking into the distance. A stark contrast to the wild landscape, it speaks of a society that prioritizes security. Inside, the scene shifts dramatically. Neat rows of thatched-roof houses, each with a meticulously kept garden, exude a sense of order unlike anything I've ever seen.

The settlement's heart is a colossal tree, its bark like a gnarled puzzle. Hollowed out, it offers a natural entrance - exposed roots forming a ramp into its depths. Sunlight filters through a curtain of thick vines, casting an almost mystical glow on the hidden interior. It feels like a secret world, brimming with potential wonder... or danger.

Life hums along the main street. Villagers tend to their gardens, some on horseback, others surprisingly, on bicycles. Everyone is clad in colorful, well-worn clothes, adorned with unique jewelry. But the most striking aspect is the mutual respect. Bows are exchanged regardless of age or gender, a stark contrast to the rigid hierarchies I'm accustomed to. Perhaps, here, a fair judgment awaits.

Night falls, and we're ushered to a tent, offered food and a chance to rest. Yet, beneath the veneer of order and civility, a disquieting question lingers: will this peace hold, or will our arrival disrupt their harmonious existence?

Dawn breaks, the bustling sounds of the camp filtering into our tent. I turn to Abeni, her eyes bloodshot and dark circles etched beneath them, evidence of her lack of sleep. She blinks rapidly, trying to stay alert, but her eyelids droop, and she sways slightly. Her movements are sluggish and uncoordinated, and she struggles to stay upright and exhaustion is etched on her face.

The worst part of dealing with people is having to suffer through their pity parties.

The young translator enters, offering a silent bow and a breakfast of roasted meat, flatbread, and tea. We accept it with a mixture of hunger and trepidation. He informs us, in his limited vocabulary, that a council will decide our fate.

As the day progresses, a growing crowd gathers beneath the colossal tree. Dressed in a mix of textiles and animal skins, they chatter excitedly in preparation for a tribunal. The air thrums with anticipation, the scent of campfires mingling with the nervous murmur of the crowd.

We are ushered closer to the gathering. A circle of large stones, reminiscent of Viridis, forms the center. Twelve figures, an equal number of men and women, take their places around it, their expressions unreadable. The council is set. The weight of their judgment hangs heavy in the air.

A regal elder, adorned in a flowing violet dress with intricate silver and gold beadwork cascading along the hemline and neckline, steps forward. Her commanding presence and measured speech leave no doubt about her leadership role. We don't understand her language, but the animated discussion that follows reveals the council's deliberation. A young woman in a deep red dress, its neckline and hem adorned with gold embroidery and cinched at the waist with a matching belt, is particularly vocal.

Finally, the council disperses. The young translator returns, his face grim. He informs me of my innocence but relays the aggrieved family's demand: a life for a life. Abeni, they declare, must face the same fate she inflicted. However, unlike their kin, she will be granted a chance to defend herself. With that, he leads us back to our tent.

Abeni's trembling intensifies, a visible ripple spreading across her shoulders. Irritation flares in my gut. This was her chance, a lifeline, and she was acting like a condemned prisoner.

"Aby," I snap, my voice sharp. "Get a grip! They're offering you a defense."

Tears well in her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks. "I can't, Eden," she whispers in a choked voice

"You can and you will!" I counter, my own voice tight with a blend of frustration and fierce determination.

We are led to a holding tent. As I scan the rough interior, searching for anything remotely weapon-like, the tent flap rustles open. Abeni flinches, a strangled gasp escaping her lips.

Two figures enter, bowing slightly. The young man, familiar from before, introduces himself as Orion. Beside him stands a young woman unlike any I'd seen before. Her dress, a light, pastel violet, flowed to her knees, revealing strong, tanned arms. The fabric seems weightless, a stark contrast to the heavy clothing I am accustomed to. A woven belt, adorned with intricate patterns and symbols, cinches her waist, highlighting a confident posture.

"Kaela is here to train you," Orion explains, his gaze fixed on Abeni. "She will help you defend yourself in the trial."

I stand on the edge of the clearing, watching as Kaela instructs Abeni to bow before the fight and on how to hold the knife. The blade glints in the sunlight as it catches the light, and Abeni's eyes follow it intently.

"Remember, keep your grip firm but not too tight," Kaela says, her voice steady and confident. "You want to be able to move quickly, but also have control over the blade."

Abeni nods, her eyes still locked on the knife. I can see the determination in her face, the eagerness to learn.

Kaela steps back, giving Abeni some space. "Now, try making some basic cuts," she says.

Abeni hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath and moves the knife. I can see the muscles in her arm tense as she makes the first cut, and I hold my breath, waiting to see how it turns out.

To my surprise, Abeni's movement is smooth and fluid, and the cut is clean and precise. Kaela nods approvingly.

"That's good," she says. "Now, try it again, but this time put a little more force behind it."

The training continues for days as Abeni's skill improves.

The day of the trial arrives. Abeni faces her accuser, the fiery young woman from the council - Riven, as we came to learn. A tense silence hangs heavy as they stand at opposite ends of the clearing, eyes locked in a fierce duel. Riven cuts a striking figure – tall, muscular, her every movement hinting at raw power. Abeni, though petite, stands her ground, her wiry frame coiled with nervous energy. The harsh sunlight beats down, casting long shadows that mirror the growing unease in the air.

Riven initiates the fight with a curt bow, a formality quickly shattered by the glint of her unsheathed knife. Abeni barely manages a flinching response as Riven lunges. She throws herself aside, her movements surprisingly agile as she dodges the first blow. A desperate counterattack is met with a swift block, the clang of metal echoing through the clearing. The dance continues, a desperate struggle for dominance. Riven lands three shallow cuts on Abeni, each eliciting a gasp of pain. Yet, defiance flares in Abeni's eyes.

The fight takes a brutal turn. Riven overpowers Abeni, pinning her to the ground, the stolen blade poised for the final strike. Abeni stares up, fear and resignation etched on her face. Just as the blow descends, Riven screams out, a heartbreaking cry of anguish. Tears stream down her face as she yells, "I want my brother back!" The knife clatters to the dirt. Riven collapses, her body wracked with sobs.

A stunned silence descends upon the crowd. No cheers erupt, no bloodthirsty roars nor have there been during the trial. Only the quiet murmur of shared grief and silent prayers fill the air. Riven repeats her mournful cry, "I just want my brother back." A choked sob escapes Abeni's lips, "I'm sorry," a whisper barely audible over the weight of sorrow.

The woman from the tribunal embraces Riven, their sobs echoing in the tense silence. Abeni sits beside me, a statue of unspoken emotions. I long to comfort her, but my own thoughts are a tangled mess.

Why did Riven hesitate? In my world, revenge would be swift and merciless. But Arismae spoke of a different kind of justice, one where education and punishment intertwined. Was this it?

Riven's rage dissolved into grief. She was going to kill Abeni but stopped at the last moment. Is it because she felt that no amount of retaliation could balance out the internal sense of unfairness, or is it because she saw that Abeni understood the consequences of her actions and no further punitive measures were necessary. Is that why humans have developed strategies for expressing remorse? If an aggrieved person retaliates and the opponent feels like the responding strike was excessive, that would lead the opponent to hit back to balance out the scales in order to correct the scales of justice. We tend to perceive our own sensory and emotional experience as more salient than what we are able to empathically experience of the sensory and emotional experiences of others, if that is the case, then Riven should have killed Abeni, but she didn't.

Is resolving this inherent cognitive bias of the human experience part of the education that Arismae was talking about? Even those with elevated levels of empathy have a bias for self preference. But her world focuses on the aggressor but what about healing for the aggrieved? Perhaps the aggrieved who experience high levels of empathy are likely to forgo revenge on those they believe are experiencing remorse since that would be experienced as causing needless harm to others and themselves. Was Riven able to correctly assess Abeni, transcending her own bias?

Perhaps Arismae's education was for low empathy expressions that lead to an inability to easily gauge a fair response to minor harm, subsequently leading to the tendency for hot blooded revenge if an actor is seeking to observe a level of remorse in their target that matches the pain they feel, yet their capacity to feel the emotions of their target is diminished

But wouldn't this type of justice favor those adept at manipulation? Couldn't a skilled liar feign remorse to escape punishment?

The questions swirl in my mind. Is true justice about understanding the heart of the offender, or simply ensuring they feel a pain equal to the one they inflicted? Arismae's world seems so alien, yet perhaps it holds the key to breaking the cycle of violence that plagues my own.

A low bow from Orion interrupts my thoughts as he enters the tent. Micel's funeral is about to begin, he informs us, and we're welcome to attend. Abeni opts to stay behind, drowning in her grief, but curiosity compels me to step outside.

The air hangs heavy with a sorrow I can't quite grasp. A sea of mourners surrounds a central pyre, the society leader, the elder who lead the trial, standing at its head with a solemn expression and closed eyes. The community gathers around, heads bowed, their traditional clothing adorned with intricate beadwork and women and men wear colorful headwraps.

As the ceremony unfolds, tears well in some mourners' eyes. Micel's family stands closest, their faces etched with raw grief. They seem so fragile, a part of them ripped away. The elder leads the crowd; her voice, low and mournful, carries on the wind. She speaks of Micel's bravery, his unwavering loyalty, his strength, and his kindness. Her words offer solace, eliciting nods of agreement from tearful faces.

The ceremony reaches its climax as the elder steps forward, torch in hand, to ignite the pyre. Flames erupt, consuming the wood, sending sparks and smoke dancing skyward. The society dips their heads once more, a silent goodbye as Micel's spirit ascends.

I stand there, a detached observer amidst the collective grief. I wonder what it would be like to feel the sting of loss, the ache of empathy. Perhaps it would forge a connection I currently lack. But for now, I'm adrift in a sea of muted emotions.

Days blur together. Abeni's depression deepens, her appetite fading. Then, one day, the woman who speaks for the society enters our tent. Finding Abeni listless, she cradles her head, murmurs a prayer, and offers her soft food. Slowly, Abeni begins to eat, regaining her strength.

Life in the settlement unfolds in stark contrast to my own. Dawn breaks to the rhythmic pulse of drums and the earthy scent of burning sage. Stepping outside, I find the entire camp gathered around a crackling fire, their voices raised in a morning chant of gratitude for the new day.

This society functions on entirely different principles. Divided into four cornerstones - relationships, draped in cool blues, work clad in fiery reds), health adorned in verdant greens, and Spirituality cloaked in mystic violets, each member chooses their path, free to change as they wish. Food, resources, and knowledge are shared communally. They live a simple life, following the seasons and the herds. Their tents, crafted from animal hides, are adorned with intricate beadwork that whispers stories and symbols. Their architectural philosophy, as explained to me, reflects a deep respect for nature's transience. Homes are built in a way that complements the elements – cylindrical structures that allow wind to flow freely, water to bypass, and tremors to have minimal impact. As I observe the rounded shape echoing the strength of tree trunks, I can't help but admire the wisdom woven into their approach.

Their resource management extends beyond water. Complex irrigation channels snake through the camp, each garden meticulously maintained beside their homes. A natural reservoir, nestled beneath the colossal tree, serves as the heart of their water system. Their livestock thrives under a system of rotational grazing, ensuring the land remains healthy for all.

Gender roles are refreshingly fluid. Men and women share responsibilities, working together in childcare, hunting, cooking, crafting clothes, trading, and toolmaking.

Immersion in their traditions deepens my understanding. I partake in vibrant ceremonies celebrating the seasons and life's cycles. Their reverence for nature spirits highlights their view of themselves as interconnected threads in a vast ecological tapestry.

This isn't just a way of life; it's a philosophy woven into their very being. Their deep connection to the land and each other fosters a sense of community that prioritizes inner well-being and societal stability over relentless material pursuit.

Orion's revelation surprises me, as he one day narrates in his visit. "They're not raiders," he clarifies, "but kin who strayed from the path."

His voice grows heavy as he recounts their history. "Centuries ago, whispers reached my community of a land with free handouts. They ventured out, curious. Missionaries from Lux, judging us impoverished, doled out gifts – charity, they called it. They didn't understand us, our traditions, our way of life. By their standards, we were poor.

Time passed. Some from our community sought refuge there, drawn by promises of shelter and aid. Most clung to our traditions, but with the worsening drought, many more sought this haven. They surrendered their names, their traditions, their very way of life, for a foreign one met with disdain. Generations passed, children born into this new world, carrying names not quite their own, practicing customs they didn't fully understand. Lost, confused, and isolated, they cling to a borrowed identity, a gnawing shame festering beneath the surface. This wound, the stripping away of their heritage, they pass down unknowingly.

"I see the raiders differently," I interject. "They're brutes who destroy everything."

Orion shakes his head sadly. "We see them as our lost family, struggling to find their way back."

"Why not help them then?"

"We try," he sighs. "My siblings and I of the green cornerstone are healers and we are trained in the arts of healing of the body and the mind. We have a strong desire to bring healing to our greater community."

"It can't be easy," I murmured.

"Indeed," Orion replied. "Some are curious, even drawn to our ways. Others are dismissive, defensive. It depends on how much of their heritage they value, how much of the trauma remains."

Confusion bumbles within me. How can something so seemingly insignificant cause such enduring emotional turmoil? Why can't they just... shrug it off? For me, sleep mostly offers a temporary escape. Problems might linger upon waking, but yesterday's woes are just that – yesterday's. New troubles will inevitably arise. Move on, I think impatiently. Life isn't meant to be an emotional labyrinth.

Pushing aside the tent flap, I find the elder, who long introduced herself as Athlea, already preparing for the cleansing ritual. Abeni sits opposite her, eyes squeezed shut, a mixture of nervousness and anticipation etched on her face.

The scene unfolds with Athlea lighting incense, the strong, earthy scent filling the air with each of my inhales. She dips her fingers into a bowl of water, flicking droplets onto Abeni's face and hair. A soft chant flows from Athlea's lips in a foreign tongue, the sound soothing and melodic. As I listen, I find myself transported back to Viridis, memories of my mother performing healing rituals washing over me.

After a few minutes, Athlea retrieves a bundle of fragrant, pungent herbs, rubbing them onto Abeni's skin. She then carefully lays out a collection of crystals and stones from a small pouch onto Abeni's lap, arranging them in a specific pattern. A twisted branch, fashioned into a wand, is used to trace over the stones as Athlea mutters softly. The ritual reaches its conclusion when she pours the remaining water over Abeni's head, washing away the herbs and stones in a final cleansing motion.

Abeni's voice cracks. "Why don't you hate me?"

Athlea's gaze remains steady. "That is not our way." Her reply is laced with a quiet dignity. "You serve us and you call upon us to serve you. How can we be anything other than grateful?"

"Is this where you tell me everything happens for a reason?" Abeni asks, a hint of bitterness in her tone.

Athlea shakes her head, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "No, child. The value lies not in the event itself, but in the lessons you glean, the understanding you bring, and the courage you display in confronting it. You must choose to see this experience as serving your growth, or you will drown in regret."

Abeni shrinks. "I don't think I'm strong enough."

Athlea reaches out, her touch surprisingly firm. "Neither am I," she confesses, her voice thick with emotion. "Micel was my son." The revelation hangs heavy in the air.

Abeni's eyes widen in shock. Athlea, the stoic leader, grieving just like her?

"Strength isn't a constant state," Athlea continues. "Neither is it intact, nor unassailable. It's forged in every step we take, every moment we face. It's a choice, one that we make, again and again."

Abeni looks down at her hands, unconvinced. "You don't know me."

Athlea rises, beckoning us outside. "Come. Look." She gestures towards the vast expanse of sky and the swaying trees. Abeni follows, hesitant.

"What's the point?" Abeni mutters, her voice devoid of hope.

Athlea doesn't answer. "Is the world ending because you feel this way?" she asks gently. "The world keeps turning. How will you choose to move forward? Will you stay locked in this struggle? What solution will that bring? Will you let regret consume you? Your perceived problems only hold power if you seek pity or avoid them. When your mind is clouded by desires, you miss the simple truth."

Abeni stares at the horizon, a flicker of curiosity battling her despair. "What truth?"

Athlea's gaze is unwavering. "Your self-judgment is based on assumptions, not reality. You're lost, clinging to who you think you should be, defined by expectations and disappointments. You need to see yourself for who you truly are."

Abeni's frustration mounts. "How? I don't know who that is!"

"Perhaps that's the question you should answer," Athlea replies, her voice soft but firm. "You've always relied on external validation. Now, it's time to find your own strength, your own answers."

"How do I find my own answer?" The question hangs heavy in the air.

Athlea's gaze holds Abeni's. "The next time you're called upon to forge your own inner strength, perhaps you can make an attempt instead of defending your seeming weakness."

Athlea turns to leave. "I must go now." With a bow of respect, she offers a farewell in her native tongue, her voice a gentle murmur. Abeni and I returned the gesture, a silent understanding passing between us.

Each sunrise paints the sky in vibrant hues, mirroring the spectrum of emotions Abeni wakes with. Some mornings, she bursts forth with life, eager to greet the day. Others, she's shrouded in a heavy silence, lost in contemplation. Yet, regardless of her mood, she tackles the day with quiet determination. It's a curious dance – this wrestling with her emotions – a spectacle I find myself strangely drawn to.

Abeni rises with a stretch, inhaling the crisp morning air. She wanders to the edge of the camp, her gaze fixed on the horizon as the sun ignites the sky. Golden light bathes the landscape, and a flicker of serenity washes over her features. Peace, for me, remains elusive. Tranquil scenes leave me restless, unsure of my role in their stillness. My peace lies in action, in the focused flow that melts time away.

As the community gathers for their morning ritual, Abeni hesitantly joins them. Initially, a wariness lingered, a distrust of being amongst them. But with each passing day, she allows herself to loosen her grip, a slow thaw revealing a vulnerability I find perplexing. Why do people burden themselves with the imagined judgments of others?

Athlea greets us with the customary phrase, her voice warm and welcoming. Curiosity gnaws at me, and I finally blurt out, "What does that mean?"

A smile plays on her lips. "It translates to 'May Knowledge grow strong within you each day,'"she explains. "Though we tend to shorten it for convenience."

"Knowledge?" I echo, excitement bubbling up.

"Indeed," she replied. "It's central to our way of life."

My enthusiasm fizzles. "Oh," I mumble, instantly regretting the dismissive tone.

Athlea chuckled, her amusement genuine. "I see the confusion," she says. "For us, knowledge and spirituality are intricately interwoven."

"So, you expect knowledge to magically appear within you?" I press, a touch of irritation creeping in.

Her laughter filled the air once more, a rich and infectious sound. "What we call knowledge," she clarifies, "differs greatly from what you might be familiar with. It encompasses the Inner Being some call Allah, God, or Creation – all aspects we view as interchangeable."

Abeni, ever thoughtful, chimes in, "So, the greeting is a wish for Creation to flourish within each person?"

Athlea nodded. "Precisely."

Abeni, her curiosity ever-present, pushes for a deeper understanding. "What exactly is Creation?"

Athlea offers a thoughtful response. "Our understanding is shaped by fragments of lost knowledge, experience, and a deep connection to the world around us. Creation, though interpreted differently across cultures, stems from a fundamental experience shared by all living things. It transcends definition – it's the spark of inspiration that ignites us, the timeless moment of recognition, the urge to act beyond ourselves, the empathy we feel for others, the inexplicable feeling of belonging. These universal experiences are our doorway to Creation."

Abeni furrows her brow. "That sounds an awful lot like Humanism."

Athlea smiles knowingly. "For you, perhaps. But Creation manifests differently for each culture, each time period. It's a constantly evolving wellspring, adapting to new encounters and understandings. Clinging to rigid definitions isolates one from the ever-changing reality of Creation. Here, we learn to let go of those definitions – they become prisons, and attempts to impose them on others are futile. Creation itself is changeless, but it expresses itself in a changing world, thus it appears changeable."

Abeni, sensing a deeper truth, presses further. "But who has it right? Luxians or Fringera?"

"Everyone's right," Athlea explains, "because everyone responds to their own experiences. Creation is the one unifying truth, the ground we all stand on. At that level, there's no disagreement. The differences lie in how developed our understanding of it is, how attuned we are to it, and how deeply we've realized it."

Abeni remains unconvinced. "But surely someone has the ultimate truth," she argues. "There must be the one perfect path to Creation."

Athlea shakes her head. "Everyone holds a piece of the truth. The truth lies in your experiences and the choices you make to learn from them. To exist in the world is to learn, to absorb, and to demonstrate that learning. You can choose to learn from your inner voice or from the world around you."

"Not everyone has that choice," I interject. "Those in Lux have their learning dictated to them. They have no freedom."

A smile touches Athlea's lips. "Ah, a day of many questions. Excellent. Let's take a walk." She guides us out of the community, continuing her answer. "Your connection to Creation can be cultivated under any circumstance. It's the one relationship that remains untainted, even by the most corrupting influences. It's internal. However, a certain degree of freedom is necessary to nurture this connection, to discern its guidance from other voices, and to discover your purpose in life."

"Purpose," I counter, "is something you create for yourself."

Athlea nods thoughtfully. "Creation holds many meanings for many people. I won't deny your experience, but it differs from mine."

"What is your experience, then?" Abeni inquires.

"We believe we are sent here for a greater purpose, one that transcends our own definition," Athlea explains. "We come from a place of rest to a place of work, and that's why the world is in its current state. Imagine your neighbors calling for help with a fire – you wouldn't arrive in party clothes. You'd go prepared for a specific purpose. But if you don't know what to do, you'd be overwhelmed. You'd sense a duty, a need to act, but confusion and unease would set in. No amount of distraction or pleasure could quell this discomfort. Deep down, you'd know you're in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing. This disharmony arises from neglecting your true nature."

"In a burning society, you put out the fire, that's simple," I protest.

"But what kind of role do you play?" Athlea counters. "Are you meant to extinguish the flames, guide others to safety, heal injuries, or mend emotional wounds? Everything about you – your personality, talents, quirks, preferences, strengths, and even weaknesses – is designed for a specific purpose. Trying to fit where you don't belong is like forcing puzzle pieces that seem similar but don't quite connect."

"No one controls me!" I exclaim defiantly. "I choose my own destiny!"

"Our belief doesn't contradict that," Athlea assures me. "This physical reality is one among many. When we choose to come here, we set ourselves on a path. We acquire skills and meet certain people for a specific purpose."

Abeni sounds frustrated. "Then why don't I know what my purpose is?"

"That's a limitation of this physical world," Athlea explains. "The soul forgets its origin, purpose, and identity. However, signs are always present to guide you – your experiences, the people you meet, and your deeper inclinations."

My frustration mounts. "If that's true, then why is everything so messed up? Why are people suffering? Why is the world in such a state if everyone has a purpose?"

"Just because everyone has a purpose doesn't mean the world makes it easy to fulfill," Athlea explains. "That's why freedom is crucial – you need it to discover your purpose. But freedom isn't about acting without limits. Unfocused freedom can be destructive. Even trial and error, while necessary at times, is a slow and arduous path to learning. True freedom comes from aligning with your inner being. You surrender the chaos of endless options for the freedom of a clear direction. When your path is clear, your choices become focused, and true freedom lies in having no choice but to follow your purpose."

"But dictatorships take away all choices," I point out. "Are people there free?"

"This is a different kind of direction," Athlea clarifies. "It's about being fully engaged in life. Every experience becomes meaningful, your life becomes vital, a purposeful journey without wasted time or energy."

She notices Abeni's apprehension. "It seems contradictory," Athlea acknowledges, "that freedom and purpose go hand in hand, especially for those raised in societies that value personal freedoms above all else. We've observed greater isolation and frustration in such societies. While forced purpose fosters a sense of community, it lacks the opportunity for individual growth. Free societies, however, allow you to cultivate your inner guidance and express it with minimal external constraints. True freedom lies in living out your purpose – anything else is a chaotic, aimless existence driven by fear and desires."

A comfortable silence settles between us as we walk back.

Athlea's words about knowledge spark a disquiet within me. I stare at the knowledge stones, their weight heavy on my chest. These relics hold the wisdom of a bygone era, yet they feel inert. Is this my purpose – to be a mere custodian of ancient knowledge? Does my low capacity for empathy equip me for a task others would falter at? Am I destined for a solitary path because connection isn't meant for me? Or am I desperately seeking meaning in a void? Can a self even exist without a sense of self?

The question gnaws at me. When I've pushed myself to the limit, exhaustion strips away my facade, revealing nothing but a hollow shell. No desires, no opinions, just an empty body waiting to rebuild the mask. But what if exhaustion has always distorted my glimpse behind the mask? Perhaps if I unmask when I'm not drained, I'll find myself there. Or maybe I've unknowingly caught glimpses before – a flicker of a scared child who retreated from a world too harsh for its true self. Memories surface – overwhelming emotions I wasn't equipped to handle.

A newfound clarity washes over me. Self-acceptance, that's the foundation I need. A purpose, a reason to exist. And most importantly, I need to explore my own mind, to find a source of inspiration within myself. Relying solely on others warps my identity, leading to manipulation and dead ends.

Turning to Abeni, I whisper, "We can't stay here forever."

She looks up, surprised. "But why? We've been welcomed for three months."

I reveal my past with the resistance, how I helped them steal knowledge from the Guild. Abeni listens, astonishment growing on her face.

"You were with the resistance?" she finally breathes.

"That's what caught your attention, huh?" I chuckle nervously. "Not that I want to leave."

"Okay, okay," she concedes, nodding thoughtfully. "So, where do we go from here?"

My own uncertainty hangs heavy. "I'm not sure yet, but I can't stay here knowing this knowledge will come to nothing."

A growing bond with Abeni makes the thought of being alone unbearable. "You're not coming with me?" I blurt out.

Surprise flickers in her eyes. "You want me?"

"I want us to be together," I clarify.

She ponders this, a frown creasing her forehead. "But where would we go?"

"We'll figure it out," I assure her.

Athlea arrives for the cleansing ceremony, which Abeni has grown more receptive to. As the ceremony ends, Abeni announces our intention.

Abeni challenges Athlea's words. "If we're here to fight a fire, shouldn't we be out there putting it out? The world is full of problems."

Athlea smiles knowingly. "Many people wonder why life can be so challenging." she starts "While there is a growing movement that emphasizes the necessity of making life easier and more comfortable for everyone, the real question we should be asking is not whether life is easy or hard, but whether it is meaningful and full of vitality. Much of your life will be involved in solving problems, and it is in learning how to do this effectively, responsibly and even enthusiastically that you will achieve what you have come here to achieve. Some people have comfortable and easy lives, but they lack a sense of purpose and passion. In the absence of vitality, their existence becomes empty and meaningless, and all they can do is seek distractions to avoid confronting the reality of their own mortality."

"Come," she calls out as she leaves, "if you have so many questions, join me in my tasks."

The morning sun warms my face as I step outside, taking a deep breath of fresh air. We're joined by a young man in the customary violet robes of his cornerstone, the fabric shimmering in the light. Beaded details and amethyst jewelry adorn his attire, and intricate tattoos decorate his hands and feet. Abeni and I follow closely as Athlea continues.

"The complexity of world problems arises when difficulties that require correction and development become entangled with everyone's preferences, desires to protect what they have, and competition with each other. Solving them often leaves someone worse off - disenfranchised, upset, or feeling like they've lost something. But when guided by their Inner Being, one can let go of anything that hinders progress or harms oneself or others."

"So everyone should just listen to their inner 'Creation'?" Abeni scoffs. "Sounds like religious fluff. We should focus on refining our personalities."

"Perfection," Athlea responds, "is not the absence of mistakes. Rather, it is the acquisition of wisdom, compassion, skill, capability, and love."

"You sure have an answer for everything," I ask and without being aware of the slight hint of irritation in my voice and apologize after slightly hesitating.

"That recognition and response, my love," Athlea responds, "is perfection."

"How do I become like you?" Abeni asks.

"Strength is forged day by day," Athlea replies. "True freedom is the same. It requires learning and practice. You become free by learning how to be free, guided by your Inner Being and taking the steps to get there. There's no magic bullet, no escaping past worries or future anxieties. It's a dedicated, step-by-step journey."

"So why aren't you out there spreading this message?" Abeni persists.

"I am exactly where I need to be," Athlea answers simply. "Right here."

Athlea smiles serenely. "Events unfold out of necessity, not desire. The wind doesn't blow because it wants to, it blows because it must. Similarly, you were called to this world to give – it's in your very nature. Withhold that giving, and discontent will gnaw at you. You might blame others or even yourself."

Reaching her garden, she kneels amidst the lavender, her touch gentle on the delicate leaves. Turning to us with a warm smile.

"You told Aby that the point of view of being served by one's experiences is something we need to cultivate," I observe. "Then isn't purpose something that a person also needs to cultivate and the idea that there is some grand design is simply nonese..." I catch myself, "simply a creation of the mind?"

She gives us some tools and shows us how to prune dead and damaged leaves without damaging the stem and how to pluck the ripe leaves from the plants as she compliments my technique. I inform her that I have done this before with my mother as Abeni has a surprise look on her face, unaware of my life in Viridis. She continues to answer my question,

"It is not possible to change the fact that you were sent to the physical world for a higher purpose." she continues. "Although you may perceive it as an infringement on your free will, the freedom of choice is a present granted to you to uncover your true values and principles, and to reach this realization independently without being coerced by external forces. Some resist this, seeing it as divine control.

Yet, everyone is called but few are responding. If you fail to heed the call, you will be lost in the world, and your life will be filled with frustration and despair, regardless of your status or wealth. Doubting the signs that emerge within you will only leave you feeling lost, and even material wealth will not be able to bring you happiness or freedom.

There is a need for the soul that goes beyond the needs of the body and intellect. To fulfill this need, you must pursue your greater purpose in life and connect with those who share this purpose. Together, you will discover and express your purpose, and your soul will be fulfilled."

"Connect with others?" Abeni questions.

Athlea nods. "There is a reason you are searching in relationships. It's deeper than pleasure, wealth, or power. You know there's more, and despite setbacks, you keep searching because who you are truly searching for is those you're destined to meet in order to fulfill your life's purpose."

Her words resonate deeply. Have I been unconsciously seeking these connections?

"The first connection," Athlea continues, "is with your inner being through transformative experiences that will defy explanation. They'll reveal a deeper reality beyond your current beliefs about yourself and will transcend the intellect"

A shiver runs down my spine. Is this what I've been missing?

"Your journey also involves encounters with others," Athlea says. "Some will be brief reminders that what you are following is real, while others will be more significant, playing a major role unlike any relationship you've known. If you can find these relationships, it will make all the difference for you. Then you will know what you are searching for is very real, and you will not make this journey alone. These are holy relationships, holy in their purpose and holy in their origin. Your attempts to define them can only be approximations."

"That sounds like religious jargon," I counter.

"Religion" she responds, "can sometimes mask a deeper emptiness. Religious doctrines can distract you from the essential responsibility: to connect with the inner being that resides within. Your inner being nudges you towards a specific path. Ignoring this pull leads to discomfort, a feeling not to be suppressed but acknowledged and addressed."

"How long will it take for me to discover my purpose?" Abeni presses.

"A lifetime, if you're truly dedicated." Athlea responds.

"A lifetime!" Abeni shrieks.

She chuckles. "The young are often impatient, eager for quick results. But patience, my dear, is a virtue. The best things unfold in their own time, with effort and persistence."

"But what if I fail to meet these people?" Abeni asks.

Athlea's gaze softens. "Focus on encountering them, Abeni. Pray, ask, declare your determination to the universe. Be resolute, unwavering. Life's experiences, successes and failures alike, will grant you the wisdom to choose what truly fulfills you. Pleasure and sorrow are fleeting, but true fulfillment lies within, in a greater reality you'll discover."

Athlea rises. "Enough garden work for today. Time to prepare the tent for healing sessions."

Abeni, her voice trembling slightly, confesses, "I want to be like you. To give."

Athlea's gaze holds hers. "Giving comes with responsibility. It requires self-development, uncovering the purpose woven into your very being. This path might demand some freedoms, but the reward – fulfilling your role as a giver – far outweighs any sacrifice."

Abeni's astonishment is clear. "Sacrifice freedom?"

Athlea chuckles. "Remember when I spoke of freedom being the absence of choice? True freedom is living with purpose, where every piece fits and your path unfolds. The truly wise rarely seek attention. Their gifts are meant for specific souls, and they guard their freedom to give."

"But shouldn't we help everyone?" Abeni persists, a flicker of doubt in her eyes.

We duck into Athlea's tent, a low structure woven from reeds that smells faintly of woodsmoke. Inside, she gestures for us to build a fire. Flames lick at the kindling, and a pot of water bubbles on top. Its steam carries the scent of herbs that tickles my nose, a familiar aroma that washes over me with memories of home and my mother's gentle touch.

Following Athlea, we step into the cool embrace of a towering tree. My eyes struggle to adjust to the dim light filtering through a hole high above. The air is damp and still, carrying a hush that settles over me like a cloak. The hollowed interior surprises me with its spaciousness; we stand comfortably with room to spare.

Lush green vines cascade from the ceiling, some thick enough to create secluded nooks. The walls, smooth and unmarked, give no hint of human intervention. A soft carpet of moss cushions the floor, and gnarled roots form natural steps leading down to a lower level.

A trickle of water, barely a whisper, echoes through the stillness as it seeps from a crevice in the far wall. As I venture deeper, I spot a figure lying on a bed of moss. Athlea speaks in hushed tones, a language I don't understand. The figure turns, revealing Riven. Abeni flinches back, surprise flashing across her face.

Riven's expression contorts with anger as she speaks rapidly to Athlea. Her words, though foreign, hold a clear edge of hostility. Athlea tries to calm her, but Riven storms out, leaving behind a tense silence.

Athlea apologizes with a sigh. "She was seeking solace here," she explains, gesturing to the prone figure on the moss. "This is a place of healing, open to all who need it." Abeni, her earlier boldness replaced by a flicker of apprehension, offers to leave, but Athlea waves it away. "Stay," she says gently. "There's much you need to hear, especially to your question,"

Athlea leans in. "Just like your purpose unfolds with specific people, your gifts are meant for certain souls. Giving for recognition stems from insecurity, a fear you try to control by manipulating opinions. Discernment, the key to wise giving, takes time and practice. It's a lifelong journey, and with time you will come to learn that the wise remain hidden in order to remain wise."

Abeni sighs. "Another lifetime commitment?"

"Indeed," Athlea confirms. "This inherent nature isn't meant for every situation or person. Some require direct assistance, others your presence from afar. But how do you know which is which? Your inner voice holds the answer. It guides the direction of your gifts and resources. This inner wisdom helps you discern which situations truly need your attention."

"Why isn't this already developed at birth?" Abeni presses.

"The same reason power isn't granted at birth," Athlea replies. "Many crave power without responsibility, viewing freedom as acting without obligation. But power and responsibility are intertwined. Responsibility requires discipline, restraint, and self-mastery – a rare quality today. It may seem demanding, but with understanding, it becomes a powerful shield."

As the day progresses, a steady stream of people enters Athlea's tent, seeking her counsel. She dispenses remedies – a mix of herbs for some, a soothing ointment for others – while attentively listening to their concerns. As I observe her, I wonder - does Athlea truly believe in the curative power of these concoctions, or just like mother, is she offering a comforting illusion?

Curiosity gnaws at me. "Do you truly believe the oil heals the boy's wound, Athlea?" I ask. "Or is it a matter of faith?"

A knowing smile plays on her lips. "I understand your question. Yes, I believe I heal him, but of a lesser ailment. He shirks his chores, seeking sun instead, and earns a nasty sunburn. That, I can address. His mischievous streak, however..." She trails off with a chuckle, "perhaps lavender oil disguised as a magical cure for mischief?" We both share a laugh.

Days turn into weeks, and I yearn to contribute more. I request to join the hunting party. Athlea leads me to the hollowed-out tree, where a ritual unfolds. Inside, I am given the garments for the worker cornerstone and emerge clad in a sturdy red tunic and trousers and a leather belt adorned with intricate beadwork. My hair, pulled back in a tight braid with loose strands framing my face, feels ready for action.

My mentor, Kan, a seasoned hunter, strides towards me. He's clad in a red tunic and trousers, tailored for easy movement with trousers, adorned with a carved wooden pendant and a sunburst emblem. Intricate tattoos snake up his arm.

"Eden," he acknowledges with a nod. "Glad you've chosen to join us."

I smile, confident in my archery skills. "Ready to begin."

Kan hands me a bow and quiver and directs me to a target. I instinctively draw back, firing an arrow that strikes the target – an animal illustration ten feet away – right in the eye. A smug grin spreads across my face.

"Hold on,' Kan says. "Hunting isn't just about the kill. It's respect for nature, the prey, and ourselves. It's a balance – taking what we need to survive while preserving the world around us."

"But I hit the target," I counter.

"Yes, but with unnecessary suffering. A true hunter's strike is swift and painless."

I absorb his words, a knot of understanding forming in my stomach. He then delves into tracking, camouflage, and using the wind to mask our scent. As we venture deeper into the society's outskirts, the immense patience and focus required for a successful hunt become clear.

Days turn into weeks, and Kan expresses satisfaction with my progress. He deems me ready for the initiation ritual – a ceremony where the hunters of the Work cornerstone welcome me into their ranks. Athlea presides, presenting me with the Work cornerstone pendant. The thrill of acceptance is palpable as I join the hunt scheduled for the next three days.

The eve of the hunt arrives. We gather around a crackling fire, clad in our hunting gear, the scent of sage and sweetgrass heavy in the air. The leader stands at the center, guiding us through a ritual dance. Our stomping feet vibrate the earth, a primal rhythm that ignites a surge of adrenaline within me.

The leader's chant fills the air, invoking the spirits' guidance for the hunt. Our bodies sway in unison, forging a connection – so they say – with the roaming animals. The dance ends, and we set off on foot, a silent serpent through the desert brush. Weapons primed, senses honed, we stalk for hours, the sun a relentless hammer, the sand a fiery carpet.

As we approach boar territory, silence becomes paramount. A twig snaps in the distance. We freeze. The leader signals a crouch. Anticipation hangs heavy. Minutes morph into an eternity. Movement flickers in the brush.

A wild boar emerges, its snout rooting for sustenance. We close the distance, a slow, silent ballet. With a practiced flick, a spear streaks true, finding its mark. The boar erupts in a fury, charging with a thunderous roar. We react as one, honed coordination from countless training sessions turning instinctual. The beast falls. We approach with reverence, preparing it with care. Gratitude fills me – for the experience, the purpose, the silent thanks offered to the spirits who provided for our society.

The hunt concludes with a proposition - a tattoo, the final step into the Work cornerstone and the hunting party. I accept. The design is stunning – ram's horns, interlocking in an endless chain. It symbolizes unity, they explain, strength in collective purpose. As a final token, they present me with a bracelet, a mark of full acceptance into their cornerstone.

But acceptance brings no solace. A hollowness gnaws at me. I shared a hunt, a bond – a facade, perhaps. Briefly, I glimpsed the comfort of belonging, the power of shared experience. But it slipped through my fingers, leaving only a chilling emptiness, why wasn't I able to connect? Anger flares, hot and fierce. This maddening void, the root of my rage, threatens to consume me. A primal urge to burn it all down simmers just beneath the surface.

Lost in the maze of my thoughts, Athlea's voice pierces the fog. "Eden?"

I snap back to reality, startled, fire stones clutched in my hands. How did I even get here? "Yes," I manage, voice low.

"Thank you," she says, a gentle smile on her lips. "Come, help me start the fire."

Inside the tent, I follow her instructions for a cleansing ritual. A chant fills the air, then a pot of water is placed over the flames.

"Tea?" she asks, breaking the silence.

My jaw clenches. "But you just... the ritual is sacred."

She chuckles softly. "Why the surprise? Can't the divine be practical too? The fire that cleanses can also boil water to make the tea."

Embarrassment floods me. "Right. I never thought of it that way."

"The divine structures the spiritual, the mental, and the physical," she explains, adding tea herbs to the pot. "It's a blessing, a burden, and a source of everyday comfort. All one fire."

I can't help but laugh. "Divine tea, then?"

"Indeed," she replies, a knowing glint in her eye. "Everything is divine. You've been drinking divine tea your whole life, sitting on divine chairs, sleeping in a divine bed."

"Doesn't feel that way," I mutter, a hollow ache settling in my chest. "Just....disconnected."

"Separation is the greatest illusion," she says cryptically. "Disconnection is a feeling, not a reality."

"But what if the feeling is so strong?" I press. "What if I feel utterly cut off?"

"Then your purpose hasn't awakened yet."

"How will I know when it does?"

"It will resonate. Feel right."

Frustration bubbles up. "I've never understood how people who are capable of reason but have strong bias towards feeling like something is true means that it is true."

"Intuition," she counters. "It's a different way of knowing."

"Not my way."

"So you are practical," she teases. "But can't practicality serve the divine as well?"

A heavy silence descends. Athlea's words hang in the air, a challenge and a strange kind of hope. Could my pragmatism be part of something bigger?

Abeni, adorned in a flowing blue dress patterned with interwoven lines symbolizing connection, had gravitated towards the Cornerstone of Relationships. Their philosophy resonated with her: recognizing the interconnectedness of all beings and the world around us.

"Eden," Abeni speaks earnestly one evening within our shared tent, "it all makes sense. Everything is connected. This is how we know Creation – through our relationships with people, our environment, and most importantly, ourselves. To care for others, the world, is to have a relationship with Creation itself. No recognition, no grandiosity – those are not pure motives."

Abeni's words strike a chord. "You remind me of someone," I admit.

"Who?"

"A friend. She saw connections in everything, offering unique insights. But I don't know what happened to her. Do you think there are others?"

"I hope so," Abeni murmurs, a flicker of worry crossing her features. "What will become of us?"

"I don't know," I confess, "but I don't think we can stay here forever."

Abeni, her silver necklace with the aleph-in-octahedron pendant glinting in the firelight, contemplates my words. The bracelet on her wrist, adorned with three wavy lines within a circle, seemed to mock the uncertainty swirling within her.

"We should search for them," I urge.

"I feel a pull to stay," she counters. "There's so much to learn here. These people are amazing, perfect, even." A touch of reverence tinges her voice.

A pang of concern shoots through me. The thought of venturing out alone is unsettling. I need to use the knowledge stones, and I need someone by my side.

"Careful, Abeni," I caution. "You're treating them like heroes, flawless and untouchable."

"They are," she insists. "As close to perfect as humans can be."

"That's the problem with heroes," I counter. "Unattainable ideals. We put them on pedestals, worship them, and their message gets lost. They become idols instead of inspirational and emilating them feels impossible because they are high up the mountain. Just like climbing a mountain, you start from where you are, not the summit. Stop seeking to immediately be like them and start where you are at - flawed, imperfect, but becoming

Abeni's gaze softens. "Perhaps you're right."

Relief washes over me as I know the seeds have been planted. "Of course I am. And you, Abeni, have so much to teach as well."

Sated, both by food and the success, I finished my meal.

Athlea's voice, raspy with age, fills the air. "Peace," she intones, her gaze sweeping over the gathered members. It lands on Abeni and me, lingering for a beat. "It begins within. A commitment to inner peace is the seed from which world peace blossoms. Conflict, war – these are weeds choked by a lack of understanding, the inability to see beyond oneself."

She pauses, letting the weight of her words settle. I steal a glance at Abeni. Her brow furrows, tracing invisible patterns in the dusty air. Does she feel the same disquiet I do? Can peace truly exist within when questions gnaw at my insides, a relentless hunger for knowledge?

"Without the guiding light of our Inner Being," Athlea continues, her voice gaining strength, "individuals create their own compasses, their own truths based upon their own beliefs. These clash, a cacophony of self-made purpose, and conflicts erupt – not just between individuals, but within groups, nations, the entire world."

A heavy silence descends. I shift, the leather of my gloves whispering against my skin. Athlea's stark words mirror the turmoil within me.

"But there is hope," she says, a faint tremor in her voice betraying the weight of that hope. "Inner Knowledge, when embraced, becomes wisdom. Wisdom fosters understanding, and understanding paves the way for peace."

She gestures towards us, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Today, you depart. Take with you the lessons learned within this community."

Abeni steps forward, her voice barely a whisper. "What if the knowledge only fuels more questions, Athlea?"

Athlea smiles, a touch sad. "Then seek the answers, child. Let curiosity be your guide. But remember, true understanding comes not just from the mind, but from the heart. It is there that true peace resides."

Taking a deep breath, Athlea turns in our direction and raises her hands towards the sky. We follow suit, a silent reverence settling over the gathering. Her voice, strong and clear, fills the air with a prayer.

"May Knowledge grow strong within you each day," she intones, her eyes closed, "may Wisdom guide your choices and actions. May Blessing be cast upon all who you meet, may Truth take precedence within your heart."

As she finishes, a tear escapes, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. She reaches out, placing a hand on each of our foreheads. Her touch is light, yet it sends a warmth coursing through me, a comforting ember against the vast unknown that awaits us beyond the society's walls.

"Go now," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "May your journey be filled with purpose, and may you find the peace you seek, both within and without."

Abeni and I bow in unison, a silent goodbye to the woman who has guided us, challenged us, and ultimately, set us free. With the weight of knowledge and the echo of Athlea's prayer in our hearts, we turn away from the familiar comfort of the society, stepping into the mist-shrouded world beyond. The sun peeks through the clouds, casting a hopeful light on the path ahead. We exchange a glance, Abeni's hand reaching out to brush against mine. A silent promise, a shared resolve.