Several weeks have passed since I collapsed from my hallucinogenic episode. I slept for three consecutive days, according to Ira. Dreaming again. Dreaming of darkness and fire. Stranded in the thicket of an immeasurable void, where grotesque and otherworldly creatures dwell in obscurity.
Creatures who could never be permitted to exist in the, oh so perfect splendour of light - and amongst the unusual residents, I heard a voice – a voice of another stranger speaking from beyond the encompassing element.
"Don't you see how your darkness complements the ambient light of my flame? Promise me that you will never shy away or feel ashamed of the gifts our universal parent has bestowed upon you." His words were strangely reassuring and nostalgic – corresponding to the reference of a flickering flame held in the palms of his shrouded self. He lingered strongly in my mind, almost unfading.
I stand before the interdimensional portal. Ignorant outsiders call Ira's soul rifts, "silent doors." And so, a myth on how to summon them was born. These doors are exclusive to Ira, and the Eckrhynes, as well as the once in a celestial lifetime exception such as myself. The ancestor gestures for me to step through first. I nod and pass through the unfiltered point of departure.
Welcomed by the dampened, sweltering temperature and a tropical haze. Volcanoes erupt from afar, expelling and spurting molten lava, as a grim ashen cloud looms over us. Volcanic ash and rock rain down from the smothered leaden atmosphere. Ira adamantly insisted on applying gear and donning protective outwear before we proceeded to the Hunni's home planet, Marx, which is infamous for its challenging, unstable climate.
Since the time of my first awakening, I have only known my natural, bare form, but for safety and practical purposes, I apparently need to wear this. Also, covering my skin supposedly meets their subjective, cultural customs about attire and bodily decency. Although they already have a relaxed approach to showing skin, nudity is somehow considered inappropriate in formal and public settings. Whereas the Eckrhyne and the Wa-omme do not wear any clothing, nor did the thought of it enter their minds – not even the overseer.
Ira has created a suitable yet perfectly fitted attire for me. The material covering my skin is dyed a darkened grey. It is elastic, as well as durable, and sleek. I'm uncertain what the fabric is made of. At first it felt odd and foreign – now it feels natural, like a thick second layer of skin. He has also invented a visored mask with a cordless, inbuilt breathing apparatus.
The scorched and desolate ground cracks beneath our feet, splitting into a dozen fissures. Then a mischievous glint dances upon the horizontal slit scarred across Ira's cornea.
"Run," he says, as lava begins to surface, verging on exuding under us. He sprints ahead without warning, leaping in and out of instant, spontaneous rifts, one after another in mid-run, reappearing miles in front. I run after him. Ignoring the stiffness in my joints. He is almost waning out of sight - almost far beyond my mortal reach. I push myself further, as the ground violently quakes. Lightning, storms through the ash cloud, casting the volcanic landscape into darkness. Beholding the volatile element again, it takes me back. I miss it.
I haven't used my abilities to their full potential since I bested the overseer, and my sanity was overtaken by a primal high. Seeing it in its natural environment encourages me to concentrate on it, even if it is for a second. I try to tune into its untamed energy, but I feel nothing. Not even a buildup or a trace of static in the suffocated air. I stumble and swerve as an upward spray of molten red erupts from the ground. I change my direction and run to the side instead of towards the up thrust of lava. I feel the heat of the tremors on the base of my heels. I've lost sight of Ira, but our mental connection is still there and intact; therefore, never out of reach. He has gotten too excited again, so much so that the contributing limits of my own mortality have been forgotten.
"Enough of this foolishness! We need to find the flames."
He doesn't respond to my comment, and our communicative channel goes quiet. I know he can still hear me, and is choosing to outright ignore my words, well, for the moment. Sometimes I hate his meaningless antics and spontaneity. I could do very well without them.
"Honestly. You are no fun today." He remarks, and returns to our private telepathic channel, quelling his playfulness - as so it seemed before a portal bursts into actuality. Ira then leaps out of it and lands on top of me, pushing me down onto the ashen turf. Then a new portal opens from right underneath me, and we both fall through. My back slams down on the reflective floor of the interdimensional tunnel, as the spontaneous rift above us shrinks and closes. I sound out my annoyance with a loud groan, as I come to, and then I realise Ira's face is inches away from my own. This situation in itself feels new and alien. I've never been in such an intimate position with him before, and as V-syvious, this is unexplored territory. He leans in and rests his forehead on mine. I can feel his weightless, temperate warmth directly through my visor. I surrender to his touch, even if it's just for a moment. We close our eyes, indulging in the shared contact, before reopening them again. Tempted to permit time to lose all relevance and meaning. Forget everything around us. Stay here in between dimensions, where only he and I exist.
I grab his wrist.
"We mustn't lose any more time." I remind him, discontinuing the mood, because unlike him, eternity is something I do not have. I will age like every other mortal, and that is a fact he must one day learn to accept. Perhaps in another life and under different circumstances, we could have had something together. He lifts his head while still maintaining eye contact.
"Fine," he grumbles, then snatches his wrist from my grasp, ceasing his actions altogether. He crawls to the side on all fours as I sit up. We both get back onto our feet again. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he rips open a new rift and stands in front of its glistening opening.
We step through and out onto a soft loam of volcanic soil, far from the erupting grounds, where the lone volcano is overflowing and overcasting the yonder.
In front of us are two halved pillars. Between the pair is a crackling bed of colourless flames? Ira begins to speak to the becalmed element as though it had a consciousness of its own.
"Born of fire, air, and earth. The one who creates and claims the land. One of three, grant us access." The flames escalate and become an enraged, reddened tangerine. Speckling stray cinders. Burning furiously in response to his chant. A golden aura surrounds us both, as Ira walks ahead and leads us straight into the fire. Never feeling its heat - nor burned by it.
Here, there are at least several finely polished, reddened, bronze monoliths, in perfect and pristine condition, standing tall around an imposing stone statue. Flames burn at its feet – and from its carved eyes. Six stone feathered wings are outstretched and spanning across the dull, vacant courtyard, thickly covered in ash. A winged ophidian has its body loosely curled around the statue´s neck and is resting its chin contentedly on its broad shoulder.
Is that statue an exaggeration or an accurate representation of the Hunni's build and height?
He resembles the stranger from my vision.
Who is he exactly? And what significance does he hold?
What is our connection?
The flames dim as I approach it. My golden aura fades immediately when I touch the creased ends of his stone robe draping over the front of his foot, feeling its tamed heat. This warmth. Is it soothing and consoling?
It is like the old presence of someone who used to be there. It was like the residual essence of someone who was once a past reliance and a source of comfort that I would always return to - someone who I left behind.
This stranger.
Why did he appear in my mind when I met that pretentious Hunni?
Ira steps forward while I am in mid-thought and joins my side.
"As you may have surmised, this is the statue of the Hunni founder, Madonis. The personification of fire."
This is – Madonis?
I study his face. Inanimate, and stern with inflamed eyes, producing unwearied wisps of drifting smoke. If it is indeed him, then my vision was either a premonition or a memory, which has not happened yet.
"We need to keep moving. Marx is infamous for its ill-tempered climate." He states in a flat, indecipherable tone and turns away from me so that I wouldn't see his expression. He rounds the base of the statue, treading on reduced flames, snuffing them out underneath his heel. I follow him through the enervated vapours. He doesn't look back or say anything as we amble up an even stone path leading to a pair of heavyset maroon doors.
Upon each door is a burning emblem of Goriagoth. The two face one another, like a reflection. It is the same design the Hunni wore on the back of his beige robe.
Then, with a slow vibrating judder, the doors open. We invite ourselves in and enter a grandiose, regal hall with high mahogany walls. From above, innumerable sole flames levitate and drift unhurriedly among one another, not touching. The floor is solid and yet translucent with lava flowing underneath. The golden aura reappears around me again as I step foot onto it, unable to feel its temperature from underneath my foot, or from within the grand building in general.
Further on ahead, positioned at the heart of the elaborate assembly hall, is a tremendous monolith. Streamlets of lava ceaselessly pour from the top of the rustic monument, cascading down its bronze sides and through the thin width of its perimeter around its base.
"Welcome. I'm pleased to see you have finally made it here in one piece." A well-spoken and clear accent brings back an immediate sense of vocal familiarity. A recognisable individual steps out from behind the impressive monolith, dressed in a loose, trailing black robe. He gives my suit a derisive once-over.
"I can see that you have come well prepared." He comments, half-heartedly masking his snideness.
"I was concerned that our climate would have been too difficult for you to handle, but alas, you have proven me wrong." He smiles.
"Now that you are finally here, we can reaffirm our terms and conditions for our collaboration, then seal our binding partnership contract; but for us to do just that, I need you first to stand in front of the monolith." He gestures with an implied wave. Suggesting I come closer and meet him halfway. The Hunni raises his chin again in the same patronising manner as before – watching me with a certain expectation and a peculiar, inexplicable keenness. With Ira standing silently behind me, I take the first step. The extreme temperature I once imagined remains tamed and decreased to a sublime nothingness - encouraging me to move forward. Bringing me closer to him and then before I knew it, I was already there - standing in front of the aged monument.
"Shall we proceed?" The Hunni asked.
"Yes." My resolution has not changed since our first encounter, and still holds true. The Hunni nods, with a straight expression, and goes to stand behind the monolith. Partially out of sight. The cascading molten-fall discontinues momentarily, and then, from the other side, he instructs me to raise my hand, as he does.
"Wait! Please think about this for a moment!" Ira intersects my thoughts, cutting through them like a sharply honed blade. Warning me in haste. Beseeching me, almost. Reminding me of that time when he pleaded me not to go to Forrine. A part of me fell and sank into the depths of my stomach - the descending weight of guilt.
I'm repeating the same pattern again in his history.
I am trying my best to survive the external forces going against me, and all I am doing is hurting him again. I know all too well that I cannot escape what is fated against me; that much has become evident, but at least I can try to outwit it and turn the harsh tides of events to my advantage for as long as possible until my time is up.
I won't let Madonis take me.
Only I can be the one who decides my end.
"There is no need. I have already made up my mind." I assure him. Putting an end to our conversation. I focus on the monument. I know what I'm doing. As long as Ira does not interfere, he can freely stay here and act as my chaperon. If something goes horribly wrong here, he can attest to what happened on my behalf.
Behind the abating molten fall is my own reflection shown in the bronze, glaring back at me, wide-eyed and furious. The maddening impulsion to carve out my very face has never struck me so hard before. I growl and bare my fangs, drawing out a metallic taste in my mouth as I stay my hand. Pushing the invading compulsion far down inside of me. I try to calm myself down and make my expression as neutral as possible. I have gone without seeing my reflection for so long that I've almost forgotten what I looked like, but when I beheld myself again, all I saw was Vonplex. Our resemblance is undeniable, as he once said, that much is true.
We are almost identical.
Almost.
It is hard to visually absorb all at once.
I didn't expect his - my appearance to impact me so much. Thankfully, the Hunni standing on the other side hasn't witnessed the falter of my own composure.
It's just a reflection.
It's just a reflection – so I keep telling myself over and over again.
I don't want him to see me like this and catch a glimpse of something personal threatening to come to light. I cannot let him know of my internal plight and show him any weaknesses. It must never be ascertained by him or by anyone else. Then the once durable skin-tight fabric begins to rend itself to shreds, inspiring confusion and worry. I quickly peer over my shoulder and see a sobering woefulness in Ira's eyes. Then my attention is pulled back to the scattering pieces of fabric and my fading aura. Ira is the only one here capable of manipulating the immaterial and the material.
Why is he doing this?
As I keep my arm elevated in front of me, heat strokes my bare skin. Gradually filling the space around me. Then letters are ignited aflame from nothingness and carved into my bronze reflection. Forming words and stringing sentences across the face of the monolith.
I withhold a hiss as sentences are branded into my uncovered flesh, producing smoke as it writes slowly and horizontally along the full length of my right arm, from wrist to shoulder.
I am not their founder.
My genetics shall not serve as their dominant genome.
I will be impartial to their cultural developments and core values.
I will not influence or discipline them.
I am not an example for them to live by.
I have no parental rights.
They will never know me.
To them, I do not exist.
My previous words and thoughts have become my scars. My position is to serve as a genetic donor – only. I have no rights. No responsibilities – except for myself, of course.
The fewer complications I have to deal with, the better.
"Do not fret. Those scars will disappear when our objective is achieved. If not, then your scars shall remain, indicating failure on your part, hence marking you for death." He mentions as he steps out from behind the monolith and stands right before me, expressing no discomfort whatsoever, whereas my arm cannot stop trembling. Unlike myself, who shall bear these fresh scars, his terms are literally afire and show no sign of dwindling.
"Every word binds us, ensuring that we stay true to them. Reminding us of our place." He elaborates with a smile.
I read each burning sentence along his left arm.
I am their founder.
My genetics shall serve as their dominant genome.
I will nurture and cultivate the core values of my seeded race.
I will oversee their cultural and societal developments.
It is my personal right to have dominion over them.
I will be their source of comfort and discipline.
I am an example for them to live by.
They shall know me as their all father – their cosmic parent.
I have full parental rights.
To them, I do exist.
Written across his palm is his signature.
His name.
Rotaerc.
I examine my palm to discover my signature branded there as well.
V-syvious.
With both of our palms signed, our terms and conditions have been finalised; therefore, our binding contract is now complete. Rotaerc extends his signed hand to me, suggesting I reciprocate. I take his hand, and he shakes it. I've heard of this affirming custom before. I find it very peculiar and rather uncomfortable; however, I can't seem to tell if it's the action in itself or him evoking this feeling.
"I shall look forward to working with you." He enthuses.
Ira knew this would happen and allowed me to proceed nonetheless, because it was something that I wanted to do.
This was my choice – and he abided by the principle of freewill.