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B2 Chapter 8: Realm of Trepidation
🕑 Added 2025-04-10 13:40:19 +0000 UTC“Father, aren’t you curious about what lies in the skies above?”
Berevan laughed, his booming laughter filling the courtyard.
“Cal, what have I got to be curious about. I can fly! The skies hold no mysteries from me.”
‘That’s not what I mean! Haven’t you wondered about what lies on Idriel and Valafor?’
“Ah you’re speaking of the moons. Many have wondered what lies beyond Elucidor, son. Yet in all of our history, there has been no mention of an elf that has ventured beyond our worlds – to the moons or beyond.”
“I wonder what lies beyond our world.”
“Wonders and terrors, I’m sure, son.”
His father had met his eyes, smiling with characteristic mischief. Yet with a depth beyond Caledon’s understanding. Berevan Brimstone’s heavy hand weighed on his shoulder, and it was a comforting burden.
Then, his father gripped his arms.
“How about we find out.”
Caledon let out a yelp as his father scooped the young boy of twelve into his arms. He invoked his Fear, and in that moment Caledon experienced the nature of his father’s Fear of flame. A flame that tore away at him eternally, even as his wounds closed.
Symbolising a terrible, beautiful, Fear.
The flames of the Eternal Phoenix, Sale. His father’s guide.
[Flight of the eternal phoenix]
His father’s booming laughter filled the courtyard, and servants looked up at them as the night was coloured by the bright red-orange light emanating from his father’s wings.
Wrapped in warmth, his father held him as he soared over Brimstone, bathed in the silver light of Idriel and golden light of Valefor, on a rare night where Brimstone was not enshrouded by a winterstorm.
Caledon’s thoughts returned to the present as he stood out on the balcony, graced by the warm spring wind. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, as he stared out into a familiar night sky, that hung over a changed world.
The warmth of the wind that washed over him, an unwelcome reminder of what he had lost.
Night had fallen and the Town of Eleric was cast in gentle moonlight - a melding of gold and silver. Staring up at the night sky, his father’s words returned to him, unbidden.
Ever since his father’s death, he had not been plagued by his nightmares. He wished that he had been, for he knew that his Fear was biding its time.
Waiting, for an opportune moment of weakness to strike.
That being said, he had been surprised. With the darker emotions that came to him – anger, grief and frustration – his journey to the Dreadwood had brought surprising ones.
He smirked as he recalled Shiver’s antics.
When the girl was not angry enough to kill him, they had become fast friends on the journey to Brimstone.
Besides, suffering knew suffering.
Caledon sighed and decided to go for a walk.
---
The evening breeze brought a welcome distraction to his thoughts as he strode through the town. Shiver had returned from her own walk, telling them of the Feartouched florist she had glimpsed. The girl was devouring their first well-cooked dinner in days, along with Vale back in the inn.
Caledon knew that venturing out into the town alone was hardly advisable. Perhaps it was the arrogance of what he had been through, but he had faced far worst terrors in his brief journey as a Fearshaper.
Emerging from one of the town’s side gates, he walked over to the precipice of the cliff where he had sat, along with Shiver and Vale when the mayor had first greeted them.
The Dreadwood was an impossible sight. It revealed wonders under the night sky that had been carefully concealed in the day. Parts of the forest glowed, shining with bioluminescence. As did the creatures that roamed within, no doubt.
It taunted him with its mysteries.
Winterlions, shadow wolves, and…
Phoenixes.
“Sale. I wish you were here. If only I could speak to you.”
Of the creatures the little girl had so casually mentioned, the name of one remained burned itself into his mind. Whether she spoke the truth… she had no reason to lie. But the people of Eleric no doubt idolised and worshipped Solastra Flora, the Kindly Gardener. If she was the one that spoke of phoenixes in her forests, who were they to question her?
After all, for a single Fearshaper to maintain the Dreadwood…
He clenched his fists once again. The distance between him, and Highlady Solastra was no doubt, just as far as the distance between him, and Vetrian Revenant.
Just how far had he descended?
Yet here Caledon stood in Trepidation, at the very beginning of his journey.
The culprits of his father’s death, two Highlords that undoubtedly stood in Serenity.
Saravagan Dreamer, the Highlord of Dreams.
Vetrian Revenant, the Deathbringer. Highlord of Death.
It was no coincidence, that his Fear of corruption had awakened upon his mother’s return from the Archcity of Dreams. When considered in conjunction with his grandfather Valeric Brimstone’s words, it seemed likely that the culprit for the web of corruption he had glimpsed during his descension was the work of the Highlord of Dreams.
If he was correct, Saravagan had weakened his father while he had possessed his grandfather, paving the way for Vetrian Revenant’s son Triol to end Berevan Brimstone’s life.
His thoughts flitted to Shiver’s words to him on their journey to the Dreadwood.
“So, lordling. Are you seeking revenge?”
Caledon choked when Shvier had posed the question to him, one night under the stars as Vale slept.
“I’m… I’m not sure.”
“Good.”
He had in confusion at the girl, wondering if it was another ploy. Although… there were brief moments when the girl wasn’t being an absolute menace, when her words had carried with them surprising insight.
“I know how it feels you know, even if it was all a sham. The desire to wound the people that made the people you love suffer. To burn yourself up, chasing it.”
Shiver fixed him with gleaming cerulean eyes.
“A little ice cube once asked me, if I considered what my family would have wanted for me. The very people on whose behalf I was pursuing my revenge. I would pose the same question to you.”
A lump formed in Caledon’s throat, as the silence drew onwards.
“I’ve always despised hypocrites, you know, lordling? Slinging around their views, heedless of how it applies to them. It isn’t a great to realise that I’m one as well.”
“Why didn’t you tell the same thing to Vale?”
Shiver paused, considering his question.
“She’s like me.”
Caledon gazed at her questioningly.
“Our princess is every bit as Insane as I am.”
Caledon choked, casting a cursory glance over at the sleeping Vale.
“She’s never going to stop. Besides, she isn’t descending purely for revenge. She wants to get her sister back as well. Which leads me to my point.”
Caledon nodded, finally discerning Shiver’s intention.
Why had he come to the Dreadwood? To descend, as a Fearshaper of corruption?
Caledon exhaled, his chest deflating like a bellows, as he recentered himself.
His goal was simple, and it wasn’t revenge.
He was no stranger to how Shiver’s quest for revenge had turned her hollow.
Leaving her a shell of herself.
Still, it was no less tempting. Calling to him in every moment of weakness. When his resolve bowed before his angst and fears.
Unlike Shiver, however, he had people left to take care of that were far more important than his own wishes. Silas’ words echoed in his thoughts, his father’s final wish for him before he reclaimed his role as the Highlord of the Archcity of flames-
Descend. To become a Fearshaper worthy of the Brimstone name.
He wondered if it would be possible, with a Fear like his own.
But one goal stood out, eclipsing all the others.
What truly drove him onwards, with the same fire that Shiver had possessed in her eyes, when she sought justice for her family’s apparent deaths.
Mother.
His mind turned to the inception of his Fear of corruption. Triggered by his mother’s return from the Archcity of Dreams, which had marked an abrupt change in her character.
Caledon gritted his teeth, as he recalled his grandfather’s golden gaze, his will stolen from him.
If there was ever a reason to embrace corruption, curing his mother of it was the reason that he descended.
Then, his mind turned to the stage of Fear that awaited them. Progressing through Trepidation was simple, according to Quietus. He recalled the little skeletal rat’s words as they had neared the Dreadwood, briefing them on their journey through the second realm of Fear.
“Gather around, my budding Fearshapers. By forming your Fearcores, you have descended from Anhedonia – and what fine Fearcores you’ve created! Now, you languish in Trepidation. To descend, you must learn to invoke your Fear into reality. With your descent… I have been bestowed with new knowledge relating to Trepidation – the second realm of Fear.”
They had listened to the undead rat, enraptured.
“In Trepidation a Fearshaper is like a baby learning to crawl. A novice artist, learning to draw. From mimicry, are born the basest of your invocations...”
Quietus Vingrave rounded on them, stabbing his ivory walking stick into the ground.
“In Trepidation, by killing creatures, you absorb their Alarum. Alarum is what fuels your descent as Fearshapers, as well as your use of invocations. It is the physical incarnation of your Fear, restored over time with your very own terror. As you draw in the Alarum obtained from creatures into your Fearcore, their death gives shape to an invocation of Fear will carve itself across your Fearcore. After acquiring it, you will be able to invoke it into reality yourself. But invocations gained in Trepidation are base, closely tied to the creatures that you fell.”
“I called it.”
They looked in confusion at Shiver, whose smile just flickered with sadness, before gesturing for Quietus to continue.
The undead rat continued, emboldened by their attention.
“In Delirium onwards, you graduate from mimicry to create your own artistry. But the finer details of your descent through Delirium continue to evade me, which will likely be rectified by your descent to the stage.”
Caledon had, of course, enquired further.
“You mean to say, we gain these “invocations” by killing creatures? It’s that simple? That seems… unexpectedly shallow. Brutal, too.”
“Perhaps, Caledon. Note, however, that there are limitations to the invocations you can gain. A Fearshaper of flame may have difficulty gaining an invocation from a frost wolf, if its nature departs significantly from that of your Fear. The invocation that results, and whether it results at all, depends on the shape of an elf’s Fear and the nature of the creature itself.”
Caledon’s mind had turned to the cryptic words they had all glimpsed.
All of them had felt something resonating within their Fearcores, when they neared the Archcity of Life. When they focused on it, it emanated outwards, and they learned that they could call words forth into their vision, which provided them with… information.
Stage of Fear: Trepidation
Guide burden: [Mythic]
Fearcore integrity: [Unstable]
Progress to Fearcore consolidation: [0%]
Retrieving generic resources in your proximity:
• Fireash bee [5% compatibility]
• Emberhare [10% compatibility]
• Blazebear [10% compatibility]
• Flame wyvern [80% compatibility]
• Phoenix [1% compatibility]
Caledon hummed thoughtfully, as he regarded Quietus.
“That must be related to the ‘compatibility’ that we see?”
“Ah… this must be the strange words you mentioned, that appeared before you on your journey. They still remain beyond my reach, I have yet to catch a glimpse of them.”
It had been strange, that the words had not appeared to his own guide, or Quietus.
“But from what you imply, it seems to provide you with insights into which creatures would be compatible with the nature of your Fear, those more likely to bestow invocations, as assessed against the nature of each of your Fears. A useful tool.”
Finally coming to the end of his explanation, Quietus had let out a soft, regal laugh. Tinged with sadness.
“My, it has been a while since one of my explanations have gone so uninterrupted. I dislike it.”
‘Worry not Lord Ratlad. You’ll be interrupted again very soon.’
Shiver’s voice had been low, and solemn.
Eyes the colour of snow in a thunderstorm in truth, burned with resolve.
The rat raised his walking stick in a silent salute.
“I look forward to it.”
Then he was snapped out of his reverie, back into the present, with the arrival of a familiar girl.
“Lord Brimstone. Enjoying the evening air?”
His lips formed a small smile.
“Vale, I told you to just call me “Caledon”. Is Shiver asleep?”
“She is, after devouring half of the innkeeper’s pantry and complaining about his lack of popsicles.”
They laughed softly at the girl’s antics, and Vale took a seat beside him.
The silence drew on between them, as they both struggled to find the words to exchange, as they had countless times during the journey.
They did, however, have one shared goal. The one tenuous link that they shared.
Perhaps, it would be a path to reconciliation.
“The Dreadwood is the perfect place to descend, don’t you think? Housing creatures of every conceivable type… I’m sure we’ll find some compatible enough with our Fears.”
Vale returned a nod of agreement. Then, her expression darkened, her thoughts far away.
“Don’t let them get to you.”
“Hm?”
“The townspeople.”
Vale’s cheeks coloured at his reassurance.
“I deserve it. We do. These people are scarred by the Rampage of Undeath. My father alone was responsible for it. No doubt, they’ve lost loved ones themselves, it’s only natural that they hate me.”
Caledon shook his head in disagreement.
“You aren’t anything like your father. Are you forgetting that it’s thanks to you that I left the temple and the academy with my head on my shoulders?”
They shared a chuckle, but there was a forced dimension to their mirth.
“One thing that confuses me, is why my father instructed Silas to take my family to the Dreadwood in the event of peril reaching Brimstone. If Lord Semille’s mother is anything like him…”
The silence drew onwards as their eyes traced over the leaves of the Dawntree, which held the last vestiges of the sunset long passed.
“Your father must have trusted her, for all of Lord Semille’s own failings. With any luck… she’ll be kinder than her son.”
“Let’s hope she is.”
As he stared at the Dreadwood beyond…
Caledon wondered if his life would ever return to the way it was before.
