Osamaru Ta
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(AS) B3 - Lesson 35: "Orientation Doesn't Have to Be Boring. "
🕑 Added 2025-08-29 02:37:25 +0000 UTCThe temple garden was quiet in the late morning, the kind of quiet that felt deeper for the noise it had followed. Jonah let out a long breath as he stepped beneath the arching trellis of ivy, shoulders slumping under the weight of hours that still clung to him like chains. The flagstones felt cool under his bare feet, each step a reminder that he hadn’t yet bothered with shoes since waking. He moved carefully, almost reverently, as though afraid to disturb the peace that lingered here.
The garden itself had always been his refuge. Between the winding stone paths and the beds of pale lilies, he’d spent more afternoons than he could count tucked into a shaded corner with some forgotten tome, letting the bustle of the orphanage fade to nothing more than a distant hum.
Today, the stillness brought him no comfort. Instead, it pressed against him like a weight, a quiet reminder of how utterly alone he felt. The scents of the morning lingered on his skin and robes — the acrid bite of incense woven into the cloth, the faint sting of ash where smoke had curled too close. Even now, he thought he could hear the echo of Audrea’s chanting, phrases that had rolled over him again and again, each one meant to root out invaders in his mind or soul.
None had worked.
He had tried to tell her as much — that there was nothing to expel, no hidden puppeteer pulling his strings. But she had pressed on, her conviction as relentless as the rites themselves. Only when the last ceremony guttered out, incense coils fading to ash and holy light flickering away with nothing to grasp, had her shoulders sagged. Jonah still wasn’t sure if she finally believed him then… or if she had simply admitted defeat.
Jonah sank down onto a low stone bench beside the koi pond, his knees aching as though he’d run a dozen miles instead of simply enduring his matron’s vigilance. He rubbed his temples with the heels of his hands, trying to press out the memory of her furrowed brows, her hands glowing faintly with earthen light as she muttered another prayer meant to “purify” him. She had meant well — she always did — but her worry had been heavier than the rites themselves.
He knew she had every right to worry. He had helped before — watched as psionic parasites were torn from weeping hosts, their bodies shuddering as alien minds were ripped free. Dozens of times he had stood at Audrea’s side, steadying the afflicted, chanting the prayers. But enduring the rites himself had been something else entirely. It wasn’t the incense or the burning wards that hurt the most, but her eyes. Seeing the way she’d looked at him, again and again, as though she wasn’t sure if it was really him sitting in front of her…
That gaze had cut sharper than any ritual.
A ripple shivered across the pond, scattering koi beneath the drifting pads of water lilies. Jonah’s gaze followed their flashes of orange and white as they vanished into the depths. His thoughts turned to Bartholomew, slipping out of the temple before dawn with that familiar set to his jaw — determined, stubborn, a man who always moved when Jonah hesitated. Brother in all but blood. He had promised Sister Audrea he would call in favors, lean on his contacts, dig for answers. Jonah doubted he’d uncover much. For all Bartholomew’s grit, for all the pride of earning D-Rank in just a few short years — no small feat for someone without lineage or backing — such accomplishments would matter little when dealing with events that involved an A-Ranked adventurer like Garrelt the Hound. That world was still far from Bartholomew’s reach.
Jonah leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, and dragged a hand down his face. His reflection in the water blinked back: pale skin, hollow eyes, faint silver glinting in the veins beneath his collar. The sight made his stomach twist.
Maggy’s face flared in his memory — bright, fierce, always pushing, always protecting. She had tried to comfort him this morning, fussing over him the way she used to before she’d been taken away to learn under the Archmage. For a little while, it had almost felt like those years hadn’t happened, like they were just two kids in the orphanage again. But she had gone, too. Off with Garrelt. Off with the one they called Alpha.
Jonah pressed his palms to his eyes, shutting out the garden, the pond, the weight of it all. He had thought, just last month, that his future was set. Quiet days in the temple’s library, lost in dust and parchment, cataloging scrolls while the world outside churned on without him. That had been the plan.
He huffed out a laugh, brittle as dry reeds. “So much for that,” he muttered into the hollow of his hands.
When he dropped them, the silver in his reflection still burned faintly. He stared at it a long time, lips pressed thin. He didn’t know what the future held, but deep down, Jonah doubted it would ever again be peaceful.
A breeze stirred the ivy above him, whispering through the leaves like a voice he couldn’t quite catch. He shivered, though the day was warm.
And then a voice did.
Jonah stiffened as the whisper slithered through his mind.
“So. Tell me, Jonah Bell… what do you think of your new power?”
His heart lurched. He jerked upright on the bench, hands braced against the stone, eyes darting wildly through the ivy and lilies as though the voice might be hiding in the leaves themselves. Breath rasped in his throat. “Who—?!”
The voice chuckled, low and amused, the sound vibrating against the inside of his skull. “Relax, kid. Give me a moment, and we’ll speak more… directly.”
Jonah froze, every muscle locked in anticipation. The garden held its breath with him. A koi broke the pond’s surface, lips smacking before vanishing again, the ripple expanding outward in lazy rings.
Then came the whine of wings.
Jonah’s head snapped toward the flower bed beside the path. A wasp — larger than any natural insect had any right to be — descended with mechanical grace, its body gleaming like carved obsidian. It landed atop a pale lily, wings folding with a faint, metallic click.
Jonah stared, unblinking, throat tight. The air felt thick around him, caught between fear and awe.
“…You’re… Mr. Alpha?” he asked, the pieces falling together with a reluctant click.
To his surprise, the reply came not in his head, but aloud, through the wasp itself. Its mandibles shifted, and the now-familiar voice emerged from the insect’s frame.
“I am. Is that an issue?”
The compound eyes burned faint red, alien and unyielding, their glow mirrored in the pond’s dark surface.
Jonah shook his head too quickly. “No… no, I was just expecting you to be…” He hesitated, feeling foolish under that gaze. “…bigger.”
The wasp gave a soundless quiver, then let out a laugh — not natural buzzing, but a human laugh rendered through metal and crystal. “Fair enough. Though, to be fair, this form is only an intermediate. Think of it as… a puppet I use to communicate. My real self is currently far away.”
Jonah frowned down at the insect on the lily. No, not an insect. The longer he looked, the clearer it became. Its posture was too precise, its stillness too… deliberate. It was Alpha said, this ‘wasp’ was nothing more than a puppet. Jonah’s mind flashed back to memories of the interest puppets one of the priests would bring out for the children ever holiday. They were intricately carved with astounding details, and the priest’s skillful manipulation of spirit strings always made them seem almost… lifelike. But this… thing in front of him felt different. Colder, somehow.
The disguise was convincing, but the longer Jonah studied it, the more it unsettled him. Especially those eyes. Red light glowed behind the facets, unblinking.
“What… are you?” Jonah asked, his voice low, half-demand, half-plea.
The wasp tilted its head, and despite its alien shape, Jonah felt the smile hidden there.
“Like I told you last night,” Alpha said smoothly, “I am many things, to many people. Here, on this world? I’m sure you’ve overheard a few scraps while the others talked.”
Jonah’s brows furrowed. He sifted through the haze of memory: half-heard whispers from Maggy and Garrelt, bits of sharp argument between Audrea and the doctor. His mind caught on a word, and he let it tumble out.
“You’re… a… Dungeon Core?” he asked, though it sounded more like a guess than certainty.
The wasp’s wings gave a faint twitch, and Jonah could have sworn the puppet was smiling again.
“After a manner,” Alpha replied. “I do run a dungeon on this world, yes. But that is far from all of my purpose.”
Jonah’s eyes narrowed. A knot of unease coiled in his stomach. That was the second time this ‘Alpha’ had said this world. Not our world. Not Relictus. As if he weren’t originally of it.
The thought chilled Jonah more than the incense rites ever had.
He wet his lips, gaze flicking from the pond to the strange puppet on the lily. “Then… what is your purpose here? What is it you want with me?”
The wasp leaned closer, its shadow stretching long across the water. The red light in its eyes pulsed once.
“That, Jonah Bell,” Alpha murmured, “is a very long story.”
Between one breath and the next, the garden fell away.
Jonah’s stomach lurched as if the ground had been yanked out from under him. He flailed for balance, but there was nothing — no stone bench, no koi pond, no ivy-twined trellis. Only a vast, lightless gulf that swallowed every sense but sight. His breath came sharp, shallow, caught somewhere between a gasp and a cry.
And then, slowly, as the vertigo cleared and his vision refocused, he realized the black was not as empty as it first seemed. Pinpricks of light glimmered all around him, first scattered, then clustering into swaths of luminous color. Nebulae stretched across the void like rivers of fire and ice, stars bleeding through veils of violet and gold until the whole of creation seemed painted before his eyes. Jonah hung suspended, weightless, his limbs slack in the impossible stillness.
For a heartbeat, awe smothered his fear.
Then he saw them.
Shapes loomed amid the stars. Worlds hanging in the dark like lanterns, their curves painted in fire and light. But they were not the Sisters, whose massive, colored faces had loomed familiar over Relictus since his childhood. Nor were they the lesser orbs that clung to the Sisters’ skirts, Relictus among them.
No, these were strangers: titanic spheres he had no names for, their surface veined with sprawling webs of light — cities so immense they seemed to swallow the continents whole. Oceans shimmered under constellations of towers taller than mountains, their spires bright enough to burn his eyes.
Jonah’s lips parted, dry and soundless. His heart hammered.
Beyond those worlds, other shapes hung: great hoops girdling their horizons, lattices of metal and crystal, vast and gleaming, too precise to be natural. Entire fortresses drifted between planets, too immense to fathom, crawling with movement like beehives. And across that endless gulf streamed ships — so many ships — each lit like a fallen star.
Some moved alone, others in streams so thick they looked like rivers pouring across the sky. And among them, leviathans drifted: ships so large they dwarfed mountains, prow after prow lined in endless formation, more disciplined than any army Jonah had ever imagined.
A chill crawled Jonah’s skin. No legend, no fairy story, no Celestial myth had ever spoken of armies like these, and the young man’s mind struggled for the words to even describe what he saw.
“Thankfully,” Alpha’s voice threaded through the stars, calm and resonant, echoing as if the void itself carried it, “we have plenty of time to tell it.”
Comments
Pizza
Where can I sign up the petition to set free Alpha from all his porogrammed inibitions and restrains? To set him free of doing wharever his digital heart desire instead of, like, be banned from the DUCK experimentation🥺
