Mythshaper
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Mythshaper - Chapter 55
🕑 Added 2025-04-01 22:36:26 +0000 UTCChapter 55: Ishtar
The world was really a small place, it seemed, at least for those who had lived long enough.
The Dreamweaver looked even older than Master Kaius. That was perhaps convincing enough for the hundred winters she had experienced, though the years of toil had not yet managed to bend her back. Her face was wrinkled, her head full of grey hair, neatly combed and let loose over her shoulders. She wore the signature magus robes, covering her whole form, with black and white embroidered designs. A white gem necklace rested around her neck, giving off a subtle aura of dusk essence.
Fractal Sight recognised it as an artefact, although its faux weave was simpler compared to my band, holding exactly sixty-four essence threads.
“That’s one gifted boy you have there, Ashlyn,” said Magus Prisca, her discerning gaze boring into me. “He’s what, four? And already looking to form his fourth aether root? If only my grandson and granddaughters were as diligent.”
While she was observing me, I implemented my Fractal Sight to inspect her inner weave. It wasn’t as glorious as a sun blooming over my vision, but it turned out I couldn’t even attempt to see through her inner weave clearly. I could make out the silvery essence running through her veins, as well as some of the essence threads, but it appeared that, like Father’s Gift, she had a way of camouflaging her inner weave from my prying eyes.
Her lips curled up when she noticed the burning green in my eyes.
“Interesting,” she said, pursing her lips. “An eye-based gift? Those are quite rare.”
Mother neither acknowledged nor confirmed her suspicions. As we strolled towards the inn we had booked for the night, she continued to probe me. Even Master Kaius was shooting imperceptible glances once in a while, though his weren’t making me as uncomfortable as the old woman’s.
“I can tell you have transference, transformation, and enchantment-type essence,” the woman continued. “Now I’m curious, what does your gift let you do?”
I turned to Mum, asking with my eyes whether it was right to give her the full answer. Considering she was about to practically act as a healer for me, there was probably a need to tell her everything, not that there was anything wrong with me. The dreams were… confusing, to say the least, but not life-threatening, as far as I could tell.
“He can see through essence-based constructs as well as anything living, interpreting their essence weave,” Mother answered for me.
The woman’s eyes practically glowed as she grew contemplative.
“That’s one rare gift,” said Master Kaius, rubbing his grizzled beard. “I remember a young woman having something similar. She had that emerald glow too. There were a few, though theirs were perhaps different variants.”
“What are the chances,” Dreamweaver Prisca muttered. “The girl I took under my wing last winter has a similar ability, though her case was far more unfortunate. The fool father of hers put her through some gruesome training, practically blinding her at such a young age. She’s about Arilyn’s age, perhaps a year or two older.”
She sighed, a trace of pain crossing through her bristly face.
Mum seemed to have a good measure of faith in the old woman, but my parents' trust in Master Kaius was on an even higher measure. Well, the elderly man did have something about him. Although I hardly felt any essence on him, his presence was undeniable. Perhaps he was an even higher-class Awakened I couldn’t yet grasp, but my parents trusted him enough to share details of my condition and gift, and even bring him along for the examination.
Upon reaching the inn, we readily secluded ourselves in our room. After a bit more casual talk, I was asked to sit down and attempt to break through while all four adults scrutinised me from a small distance away. Only the Dreamweaver stood above me, her palm hovering over me as she instructed.
“Well, I got the gist of everything from your mother,” she said. “Though I can’t guarantee I can solve this condition of yours.”
She let out a small sigh.
“I’ve been exploring the Dream Realm for over 125 years, and sometimes it still confuses me. While the rules of the physical realm do apply to dreams to a degree, everything can go awry at any moment, and you wake up with scars you have gotten in Ishtar.”
Ishtar was the particular realm within dreams that was more connected to the physical and spiritual realm. I read about it from whatever I could get my hands on. Needless to say, the explanation was rather lacking. Other than telling me how wildly expansive Ishtar could be and its danger, the books held little more detail.
I nodded along as she explained, finally pushing my essence threads within my channels in the familiar way of Essence Unification.
“What we’re about to attempt is pretty simple,” she instructed. “I have done it thousands of times, so you can rest assured that you’re in safe hands.”
The plan was simple. I was to form an aether root right now, and if that triggered that recurring nightmare of mine, the Dreamweaver would enter my nightmare and observe how it was happening.
Since it had occurred three times already, I didn’t believe it to be a mere simple dream.
Before we began, however, she allowed us to ask some more questions about the dream realm. Most of what I knew was simple, so my question was simple as well.
According to Magus Prisca, the dream realm was another plane of reality. Although not material like our world, it still affected our lives. People could fall into limbo, losing themselves in a lifelong dream for decades. They could even die, while receiving wounds from Ishtar was more of a common occurrence than people believed. It only felt rare because most Awakened would never be in contact with Ishtar. Usually, Awakened individuals rarely fell into the dream realm, and even if they did, the chance of them remembering anything from it was extremely low, to say the least.
There were also outside forces that could affect the dream realm and pull someone into those nightmares. She would see if that was the case with me and adapt accordingly.
“Another interesting point is time,” she said. “Time is not always linear in Ishtar. Years could have passed in there without your physical body barely ageing a day, and vice versa.”
“Like inside rifts?”
“Not exactly, but similar.”
With Essence Unification running through my channels, it barely took an hour for me to trigger my fourth advancement. Agony contorted and twisted through my gut, wrenching a groan from my lips, but I held on as a palm pressed against my back. The leathery exterior indicated it wasn’t Mum’s, but the Dreamweaver’s.
A green thread speared my essence seed and split in eight equal parts at once, resting my pain.
And then, before I knew anything, darkness consumed me.
. . .
A soul-rendering scream awoke me in the other world as a clawing fist raked over my head. A helmet covered my face, obstructing the raking claws—until those monstrous arms ripped it apart.
My eyes snapped open to the chaos before me. Icy, wicked wind bit into my bloody face. Having no other choice, I struggled within the grasp of the monster.
It was humanoid, as tall as eight feet, its orcish face open, saliva dripping as though it had rabies. Its otherwise smooth skin was swollen with angry red and purple marks, veins bulging disturbingly. Their ghoulish presence reeked with a disgusting, murky stench.
Devourers. There were over a dozen of them.
The answer came to me at once as I inched backwards on my butt.
Most Devourers had once been human, but their insatiable hunger for flesh and essence had twisted their very nature, rendering them worse than savage animals. All that remained was the bestial instinct to feed themselves, to satiate the depthless hunger before it could consume them completely.
I had no time to gloss over how the information manifested in my mind, as those hungry Unmade were about to feast upon me.
Spotting a sword on the ground, I rolled over to grab it just as the pack of Devourers swarmed me from all directions. Instinctively, I plunged my blade into one’s stomach and wrenched it free, but that was hardly enough to kill a Devourer.
I had to bisect them in half or extract their dark core to kill them for good. Unless it suffered an exceptionally grave wound, a Devourer would not stand down for more than a few seconds.
My sword cleaved through an arm, but another claw landed a crushing blow on my back. My armour absorbed the impact, saving me from injury.
Once again, I was in an older body, though I wasn’t sure if it was the same one I had inhabited before. I stood taller, no rough beard on my face, but I could clearly feel the nasty ichor plastered on my chin and cheeks. The body was particularly stronger than my real self, though against so many of these Unmade, I didn’t fancy my chances.
Killing myself would likely wake me up in the real world, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it—not to mention the agony I would endure, even for a split second. Death was not something I wanted to experience ever again.
Adopting the Walking Mountain stance, I steadied myself, fending off their relentless attacks. As I manoeuvred to gain distance, my gaze flickered around, searching for any sign of the Dreamweaver. Only darkness and biting cold surrounded me other than those ghoulish Devourers.
Perhaps she was unable to enter my dream, given the nature of these nightmares.
I had no time to dwell on the thought. A ghastly aura radiated from the blade as I attempted to push my essence through it. The next time the blade made contact with those Devourers, it barely felt any resistance. Each swing left severed limbs and fractured skulls in its wake.
A monster lunged at me, knocking me to the ground once more. I threw it off before it could bite my shoulder, but soon two more replaced it. I ended one, slitting its throat completely, and was about to get to the other when more of them came.
Their arms raked over my face, claws tearing through my armour and helmet. Their weight became immeasurable, akin to a mountain atop me. They fought among themselves to devour me, as if I were nothing more than a piece of meat to be torn apart.
I had promised myself not to feel the pain of death again, but from the look of it, there didn’t seem to be another way to come out of this heap.
As I struggled under a pile of hungry ghouls, thin wisps of white threads wiggled through the creatures and reached me. The strings connected with each of those monsters and yanked, sending them flying.
I was relieved of them, though a string was still connected to my chest. But my eyes were transfixed on the Devourers disintegrating in the air, their figures burning away in red mist and smoke. Their bitter cries ceased finally.
A figure descended from above, cloaked in glowing white armour. The corpse-walkers crumbled around her as she drifted down to me.
I blinked, my eyelids heavy as mountains. Magus Prisca?
She had a string of white thread wrapped around her palm—the very one connected to me. Unceremoniously, she twirled it over her index finger and yanked.
Like being pulled from the depths of a terrible abyss, I was thrust upwards, my legs flailing in the air aimlessly, the world of Ishtar crumbling around me.
Comments
Stephen Pearson
Well that was dramatic:-) Thanks for the chapter!
