*************
Wyatt Graves
My mother laid out the Ether available to those of the 7th Sigil quite extensively. Now, there is always a chance that a Power goes beyond the typical limits like I have done in the past as a lower Sigil, but it only becomes exponentially more difficult to do so. After all, I didn't even have a clue about Living Strand before becoming an Angel.
Only at this point do I realize just how talented Alexos was. And it is while reading the notes I took while listening to her that I understand how his illusions must have worked. I had no hope of uncovering the secrets of Excavator anytime soon without Aniwye's help.
Upon reaching the 7th Sigil, two new ways of manipulating Ether are accessible, though the first is a requirement for the second. The first, named Living Strand by humanity, is about imbuing objects with a semi-consciousness, whether made of Ether or not, and whether the thing imbued is living or not, as many times people do it to themselves. Sometimes, this involves a special connection to the Ether; sometimes, it merely involves a special connection to the object.
Living Strand is ninety-nine times out of a hundred, only achievable by Angels due to the effect of the Sigil molding together with the soul. This is also the point of Ether where new skills using it become near-impossible to develop due to its difficult-to-control nature. The ones that are made, however, are able to go toe-to-toe with the Dzils of non-Angels, creating a vast gap between mortals and Angels, specifically old Angels who have had the time to master many of such skills.
The next portion I wrote down, however, is what fills me with a deep-seated determination.
The 7th Sigil is the first point where not all people get the manipulation of Ether that is detailed. Most Angels reach Living Strand, but less than half go beyond that. Living Strand has a second stage, where it condenses and turns into a type of plasma called Plasmic Ether, not dissimilar to Gaseous Ether. This plasma typically has three types: Fire, Lightning, and Dust. Fire has strong instant strengthening properties upon one's Ether, Lightning speeds up the activation of skills and their velocities, and Dust creates Ether that lingers far longer and is hard to get rid of. Others exist but are rare.
The rare forms of Plasmic Ether catch my eye, and I can't help but desire them. They are far more powerful than the basic types, though, as Aniwye said, they are rare. Vincent Harvey is famous for his Sainted Mist, and so is Leviathan.
Sainted Mist and Auroras are two of the rare types that Aniwye knew of, the latter a brand that she has mastered herself. The Aurora she can create simply by moving her Ether impacts each and every one of her skills just as Gaseous Ether would. It makes the Ether expand in size while simultaneously keeping its power as if it wasn't spread out. Only, it bears a hefty weight on her mind.
Without it, however, she would have died underneath the battle of Gods in Blackreach. So, after seeing the power she can wield with one and the strength boasted by two others with rare Plasmic Ethers, I want one. I want one really bad.
Regardless of what I want, though, Aniwye doesn't know what determines one's Plasmic Ether. Some Angels believe it is an innate talent, the credence given by those who boast the kinds of being absurdly powerful. Some even think it is simply luck. However, others, like my father, who told Aniwye his theory, believe it is based on the soul and how one has grown throughout their life.
Glancing over at Bonfire, who is sleeping soundly, I think of what type he'll get. Surely, it'll be fire. There is no way he gets anything else. Explosive strength is what he's known for. It's built into him from his core.
He has been sleeping a lot lately. I think the time is gradually approaching, or maybe the dullness is driving him mad in a different way. He's been an Eventide for... months now. As far as I know, that's the longest someone, particularly a human, has lasted before succumbing to the Mother Below. Vernon lost in moments.
Bonfire has held on for months.
Nevertheless, I know he's losing. He's waking up less and less. Each time, he is more disoriented than the last, more frantic, more desperate. Emmet Knox hides it well, not wanting to worry me, but I know what it is like to fight a war within, one that you do not believe you can win.
I'd love to spare him some of this hourglass to help him grow more adept with Ether, but it'd only kill him faster. Time is not his ally. It never has been.
So, instead, I simply take multiple grains, focusing on them while compelling time to distort.
One grain at a time speeds up time by a multiplier of four times. That means I could turn a single week into four.
That is not enough.
To learn these skills takes most years. I know I'm relatively talented and that full, concentrated training is far more effective than gradual learning, but still... it won't be easy by any stretch of the imagination. Furthermore, I need to not only understand them but master them. This is why Aniwye gave it to me and not her. I can raise in strength far faster than she due to my ineptitude with Angelic Ether. For my mother to become more potent with the substance, she'd either have to become a Dominion or learn their techniques.
Two grains turn an hour into seven, three an hour into nine, and four into ten. Any more grains at a time is only a waste since there are not infinite pieces of sand from the hourglass. Eventually, it will run out. Otherwise, I wouldn't even go beyond the one-to-four-time ratio.
But ten weeks? I think I can do something with that.
Living Strand.
Here I come.
I just have to watch out for Time's Shadow.
******************************************
The shifted time creates a profound silence.
Everything is so... slow around me.
The falling and rising of Bonfire's chest is so incredibly peaceful that I feel my eyelids sink in reciprocation. Nevertheless, my focus doesn't wane.
The concept of infusing semi-consciousness into the Ether that courses through my veins holds a promise of strength, one that I must have if I have to get revenge for Edward. The ticking sands of the hourglass echo in my ears, the little grains shifting as I use them while delving into my own flesh.
However, Aniwye advised me to focus not necessarily on my Ether as a whole but instead on a single skill. And, among my diverse set of skills, I hone in on the newest addition—Enfetter. Chains forged from the very fabric of my soul stretch out from my flesh. Like me, they are affected by this altered time and cannot move either beyond simply being conjured. This skill has quickly proven formidable, yet the transient nature of its manifestation poses a significant limitation. They don't last all that long, are relatively flimsy compared to my own strength, and are difficult to control. They also consume an outrageous amount of my Ether, far too much to use without strain. I only manipulated so many in Kingstown because I was so excited about discovering it.
Living Strand has the vast potential to transcend these constraints.
Stationary within the temporal manipulation, I watch closely as Enfetter wraps my arm with the metal wrought from my soul, materializing with a familiarity born from countless repetitions. Since I became an Angel, I've made it a point to master this skill. Day in and day out, I've fiddled with it, learning its ins and outs, seeing as the other boon from my advancement, Gasp Of Freedom, is so similar to its predecessor.
Mastery has granted me control, but the gradual decay remains an inevitable outcome. Furthermore, it is hard to use the chains while fighting up close. Only at a distance do they genuinely shine due to my inability to split my mind so heavily, even with Ironheart. The challenge lies in imbuing these chains with a semblance of autonomy, a slight consciousness that can adapt and endure beyond my direct influence.
Drawing upon the fetters with more Ether, I delve into experimentation. I channel my focus, attempting to channel partially conscious Ether to infuse the chains with a vitality of their own. Though, I don't honestly know what I'm doing, simply fiddling with the pieces here or there. I test out a thing here or there, changing how I see and use my Ether. Progress is slow, painfully slow.
Still, time, tenfold in speed, stretches the moments into elongated periods of concentrated effort. My chains cannot move in this augmented time, making advancements even more elusive than they should be due to my goal.
Nevertheless, I never pause or slow. The moment a grain of sand is expended, I draw upon another.
**************************
On the third day of reality and the thirtieth of practice, I feel something. A slight spark, an incongruence between my Ether and I, emerges. I can feel the streams that split off from my very chains distort, moving partially on their own while still following my guide.
I wish to smile, but I cannot, with my face locked into eternal concentration due to the hourglass. I push the Ether faster, hoping that this will evolve into a piece of Living Strand. And it quickly begins to as I sense the chains change.
The colors of my chains shift rapidly like a kaleidoscope, glimmering brilliantly into this cellar. I can see Bonfire's eyes open slowly from his slumber at the sight, but the instant excitement fills my body. A horrid, dangerous, downright awful sensation creeps up from my stomach and into my brain.
"Blodwyn! Is something wrong!?"
I ask my companion, but he doesn't know either. Blodwyn growls out an unknowing shrug. What the hell? Why does this feel so wrong?
Not willing to risk my own Ether leaving me, I pull back, wishing to stop the flow of Enfetter, but the moment I do, time ceases to exist.
Bonfire stops moving. Blodwyn eliminates his omnipresent hum. The air ceases its gradual movement. Even the sands within the hourglass pause wholly as if... as if time has been flipped upside down.
Fuck. I thought there would be a warning!?
Aniwye told me there'd be a warning!
I open my eyes wide as my vision partially cracks, revealing a scene of golden waters that would have stopped my heart if Blodwyn were still beating it.
The excess use of the hourglass plunges me into a disorienting kaleidoscope of fractured reality. My vision shatters further into a myriad of cracks, revealing glimpses of an ethereal landscape that transcends the boundaries of my understanding of Sigils and Ether. Within this fissure, I behold the legendary River of Time, a place of cosmic significance, eclipsing even the revered Bridge of the Gods.
Golden Sands, Timeless Waters, Ageless Beach—words fail to capture the essence of this otherworldly river. It defies the conventions of existence, flowing ceaselessly in every direction, composed solely of golden dust that moves with the fluidity of a liquid. The power emanating from the river is palpable, vast, and incomprehensible, like a force that shapes the very fabric of reality.
It goes beyond Sigils. It goes beyond Ether. It simply is.
Amidst the fractured reality, a call echoes through the cracks, a summons that transcends the frozen moments of manipulated time. The pull is undeniable, drawing me toward the River of Time. It tugs at my hand, a force that seems intimately connected to the very sands within the hourglass.
Shaw... what the fuck did you make? No... The Second didn't make this. He only made the hourglass, not the sands. He stole the latter from the River of Time.
As I feel myself being dragged toward the cracks in reality, I refuse to succumb to the inevitability of the pull. A determination surges within me, a resilience against the inexorable force trying to claim me. Frozen within the manipulated time, I resist the draw, clinging to my sense of self and purpose.
Still, within the halted reality, I move, my body sliding across the floor toward the air that is broken like a mirror. It wasn't my vision that was affected. It was reality itself.
As I slide toward the hole, however, the hourglass in my hand cracks wholly, shattering into a thousand pieces. And from the sand, actual sand, unlike Vincent's infinite insects, a hand emerges. The hand shifts forward while I am still paralyzed in time and clenches around the holes in existence.
Then, it clenches them closed in only a moment.
In awe, I remain staring at the hand. Sand falls from it, only to rewind backward, returning to it so that none ever truly leave. The palm twists to face me as if intelligent. It then glances at the hourglass shattered below me.
And before my very eyes, it speaks without a mouth or lungs, merely echoing itself through the sands. I can hardly understand what is occurring, let alone do anything about it.
"An anomaly. How intriguing. Death should have taken you long ago. And yet... even with a negative time, you remain. Interesting. Very, very interesting. It has been... a long time since I last saw a Voyager. What year is it, pray tell, child?"
I can't even speak as I'm so lost by his words. I try to answer him, convinced it won't even work due to the altered time, yet it does.
"We just entered 1680 two days ago."
The hand crinkles in reply to my words, as if hurt by them. It seems to possess a life and emotions, but as the sand falls more and more, my eyes bear witness to its fetters.
Midnight purple. The same as Ytern and Tonyun.
A Dominion. A Demigod. The highest level a mortal can reach. Where all but Vincent have stopped their ascensions, no matter how great.
What the fuck did Aniwye give me?
If my heart could beat, it would be hammering away right now in preparation for my life's most significant, grandest fight, yet the palm of sand simply twists away. It hovers toward the wall of the cellar before facing me once more. Its voice is calm, reassuring, and as wise as a tone can be. The words echo through the air without an audible origin, but they sink deeply into my ears without hesitation.
"Thank you for releasing me, child. I would introduce myself... but... I don't remember my name anymore. I don't even remember when or where I come from. I only remember that there is something I must do. For a long... long time, I have attempted to break out, but it seems none of my children managed to use the tools I left behind for the final push. To you... it has been many years. To me... however... the number does not exist it is so large. Before I leave, however, I can give you a gift, as it would seem I took away the spare time you were owed."
A line of sand flies toward me from him. I flinch to dodge it, unable to move anymore, but it reaches me all the same. In my caution, the forgetful figure speaks to me once again before entering and leaving through a solid wall.
"Fret not. It will not hurt you. You sought more time, yes? Here is three months. It is all I can bestow until I find the rest."
Time hastens, but only to a crawl, almost wholly frozen instead of utterly halted. Bonfire's pupils hardly shift despite his panic. Meanwhile, I move at only a slightly faster pace, thanks to my own speed.
What the fuck was that? Who was that?
Was that the Forgotten One? The Prime without a name? The Timewarped Delver? Even he forgot his own name? How did he get there? How did I free him?
Voyager?
The rest?
What is happening?
I calm myself, taking a deep breath despite how long it takes me to do so. At least I can move. Plus, my Ether circulates at a normal pace. All of this is so bizarre. Time manipulation? This is far, far beyond anything Johnny could possibly do. Timewarped Delver... That book of Johnny's has to be connected. What was the author's name?! I swear I read it and committed it to memory. Where did it go!?
No, I need to focus. He gave me time. I should make the most of it. I can worry about this man when I have someone I can speak to. As of right now, I'd only be thinking in circles.
Finding my resolve again, I reconjure my chains, and I fall back into the gradual practice. To reach that same point, however, nearly two weeks pass.
**************************
After calming Bonfire down a week ago due to the altered time affecting our communication, I stare with rapt attention at my chains. I feel something changing, something not of my own accord yet still aligned with me. It's like the Ether attaches to my soul but not my consciousness. Aniwye must not know the full truth of the Ether manipulation. I suppose only I would due to the sense I have over my own soul from the Philosopher Sigil.
As my soul intertwines with the Enfetter, I witness a subtle transformation. The chains, once subject to a predetermined fate or my direct control, exhibit a resilience that defies their fleeting nature. They resist decay. It's hard to notice as they already faded somewhat slowly, but I do see it. From minutes to days, they turn more solid, more substantial. Their radiant and multicolored links display a tenacity that extends beyond the confines of my immediate control.
Excitement courses through me as my soul weaves a subtle connection. I let it occur independently, careful not to force anything, imbuing the chains with a newfound vitality. Enfetter, once bound by my design, now exhibits a semblance of autonomy, a flicker of consciousness that allows my chains to adapt and move in ways I had only dreamed.
A slight smile grows on my face as I watch the fetters twist on their own like curious animals searching for food. It is slow but still faster than my own movement due to the Ether's speed once leaving my body.
I watch the soulful metal on my wrist stare at me as if it has eyes. Then, it curls around the entire of my left arm, conjoining with my flesh yet not falling into it. Like that of a tamed boa, it rests peacefully despite the danger it holds.
Living Strand down.
Plasmic Ether to go.
*************
Wyatt Graves
My mother laid out the Ether available to those of the 7th Sigil quite extensively. Now, there is always a chance that a Power goes beyond the typical limits like I have done in the past as a lower Sigil, but it only becomes exponentially more difficult to do so. After all, I didn't even have a clue about Living Strand before becoming an Angel.
Only at this point do I realize just how talented Alexos was. And it is while reading the notes I took while listening to her that I understand how his illusions must have worked. I had no hope of uncovering the secrets of Excavator anytime soon without Aniwye's help.
Upon reaching the 7th Sigil, two new ways of manipulating Ether are accessible, though the first is a requirement for the second. The first, named Living Strand by humanity, is about imbuing objects with a semi-consciousness, whether made of Ether or not, and whether the thing imbued is living or not, as many times people do it to themselves. Sometimes, this involves a special connection to the Ether; sometimes, it merely involves a special connection to the object.
Living Strand is ninety-nine times out of a hundred, only achievable by Angels due to the effect of the Sigil molding together with the soul. This is also the point of Ether where new skills using it become near-impossible to develop due to its difficult-to-control nature. The ones that are made, however, are able to go toe-to-toe with the Dzils of non-Angels, creating a vast gap between mortals and Angels, specifically old Angels who have had the time to master many of such skills.
The next portion I wrote down, however, is what fills me with a deep-seated determination.
The 7th Sigil is the first point where not all people get the manipulation of Ether that is detailed. Most Angels reach Living Strand, but less than half go beyond that. Living Strand has a second stage, where it condenses and turns into a type of plasma called Plasmic Ether, not dissimilar to Gaseous Ether. This plasma typically has three types: Fire, Lightning, and Dust. Fire has strong instant strengthening properties upon one's Ether, Lightning speeds up the activation of skills and their velocities, and Dust creates Ether that lingers far longer and is hard to get rid of. Others exist but are rare.
The rare forms of Plasmic Ether catch my eye, and I can't help but desire them. They are far more powerful than the basic types, though, as Aniwye said, they are rare. Vincent Harvey is famous for his Sainted Mist, and so is Leviathan.
Sainted Mist and Auroras are two of the rare types that Aniwye knew of, the latter a brand that she has mastered herself. The Aurora she can create simply by moving her Ether impacts each and every one of her skills just as Gaseous Ether would. It makes the Ether expand in size while simultaneously keeping its power as if it wasn't spread out. Only, it bears a hefty weight on her mind.
Without it, however, she would have died underneath the battle of Gods in Blackreach. So, after seeing the power she can wield with one and the strength boasted by two others with rare Plasmic Ethers, I want one. I want one really bad.
Regardless of what I want, though, Aniwye doesn't know what determines one's Plasmic Ether. Some Angels believe it is an innate talent, the credence given by those who boast the kinds of being absurdly powerful. Some even think it is simply luck. However, others, like my father, who told Aniwye his theory, believe it is based on the soul and how one has grown throughout their life.
Glancing over at Bonfire, who is sleeping soundly, I think of what type he'll get. Surely, it'll be fire. There is no way he gets anything else. Explosive strength is what he's known for. It's built into him from his core.
He has been sleeping a lot lately. I think the time is gradually approaching, or maybe the dullness is driving him mad in a different way. He's been an Eventide for... months now. As far as I know, that's the longest someone, particularly a human, has lasted before succumbing to the Mother Below. Vernon lost in moments.
Bonfire has held on for months.
Nevertheless, I know he's losing. He's waking up less and less. Each time, he is more disoriented than the last, more frantic, more desperate. Emmet Knox hides it well, not wanting to worry me, but I know what it is like to fight a war within, one that you do not believe you can win.
I'd love to spare him some of this hourglass to help him grow more adept with Ether, but it'd only kill him faster. Time is not his ally. It never has been.
So, instead, I simply take multiple grains, focusing on them while compelling time to distort.
One grain at a time speeds up time by a multiplier of four times. That means I could turn a single week into four.
That is not enough.
To learn these skills takes most years. I know I'm relatively talented and that full, concentrated training is far more effective than gradual learning, but still... it won't be easy by any stretch of the imagination. Furthermore, I need to not only understand them but master them. This is why Aniwye gave it to me and not her. I can raise in strength far faster than she due to my ineptitude with Angelic Ether. For my mother to become more potent with the substance, she'd either have to become a Dominion or learn their techniques.
Two grains turn an hour into seven, three an hour into nine, and four into ten. Any more grains at a time is only a waste since there are not infinite pieces of sand from the hourglass. Eventually, it will run out. Otherwise, I wouldn't even go beyond the one-to-four-time ratio.
But ten weeks? I think I can do something with that.
Living Strand.
Here I come.
I just have to watch out for Time's Shadow.
******************************************
The shifted time creates a profound silence.
Everything is so... slow around me.
The falling and rising of Bonfire's chest is so incredibly peaceful that I feel my eyelids sink in reciprocation. Nevertheless, my focus doesn't wane.
The concept of infusing semi-consciousness into the Ether that courses through my veins holds a promise of strength, one that I must have if I have to get revenge for Edward. The ticking sands of the hourglass echo in my ears, the little grains shifting as I use them while delving into my own flesh.
However, Aniwye advised me to focus not necessarily on my Ether as a whole but instead on a single skill. And, among my diverse set of skills, I hone in on the newest addition—Enfetter. Chains forged from the very fabric of my soul stretch out from my flesh. Like me, they are affected by this altered time and cannot move either beyond simply being conjured. This skill has quickly proven formidable, yet the transient nature of its manifestation poses a significant limitation. They don't last all that long, are relatively flimsy compared to my own strength, and are difficult to control. They also consume an outrageous amount of my Ether, far too much to use without strain. I only manipulated so many in Kingstown because I was so excited about discovering it.
Living Strand has the vast potential to transcend these constraints.
Stationary within the temporal manipulation, I watch closely as Enfetter wraps my arm with the metal wrought from my soul, materializing with a familiarity born from countless repetitions. Since I became an Angel, I've made it a point to master this skill. Day in and day out, I've fiddled with it, learning its ins and outs, seeing as the other boon from my advancement, Gasp Of Freedom, is so similar to its predecessor.
Mastery has granted me control, but the gradual decay remains an inevitable outcome. Furthermore, it is hard to use the chains while fighting up close. Only at a distance do they genuinely shine due to my inability to split my mind so heavily, even with Ironheart. The challenge lies in imbuing these chains with a semblance of autonomy, a slight consciousness that can adapt and endure beyond my direct influence.
Drawing upon the fetters with more Ether, I delve into experimentation. I channel my focus, attempting to channel partially conscious Ether to infuse the chains with a vitality of their own. Though, I don't honestly know what I'm doing, simply fiddling with the pieces here or there. I test out a thing here or there, changing how I see and use my Ether. Progress is slow, painfully slow.
Still, time, tenfold in speed, stretches the moments into elongated periods of concentrated effort. My chains cannot move in this augmented time, making advancements even more elusive than they should be due to my goal.
Nevertheless, I never pause or slow. The moment a grain of sand is expended, I draw upon another.
**************************
On the third day of reality and the thirtieth of practice, I feel something. A slight spark, an incongruence between my Ether and I, emerges. I can feel the streams that split off from my very chains distort, moving partially on their own while still following my guide.
I wish to smile, but I cannot, with my face locked into eternal concentration due to the hourglass. I push the Ether faster, hoping that this will evolve into a piece of Living Strand. And it quickly begins to as I sense the chains change.
The colors of my chains shift rapidly like a kaleidoscope, glimmering brilliantly into this cellar. I can see Bonfire's eyes open slowly from his slumber at the sight, but the instant excitement fills my body. A horrid, dangerous, downright awful sensation creeps up from my stomach and into my brain.
"Blodwyn! Is something wrong!?"
I ask my companion, but he doesn't know either. Blodwyn growls out an unknowing shrug. What the hell? Why does this feel so wrong?
Not willing to risk my own Ether leaving me, I pull back, wishing to stop the flow of Enfetter, but the moment I do, time ceases to exist.
Bonfire stops moving. Blodwyn eliminates his omnipresent hum. The air ceases its gradual movement. Even the sands within the hourglass pause wholly as if... as if time has been flipped upside down.
Fuck. I thought there would be a warning!?
Aniwye told me there'd be a warning!
I open my eyes wide as my vision partially cracks, revealing a scene of golden waters that would have stopped my heart if Blodwyn were still beating it.
The excess use of the hourglass plunges me into a disorienting kaleidoscope of fractured reality. My vision shatters further into a myriad of cracks, revealing glimpses of an ethereal landscape that transcends the boundaries of my understanding of Sigils and Ether. Within this fissure, I behold the legendary River of Time, a place of cosmic significance, eclipsing even the revered Bridge of the Gods.
Golden Sands, Timeless Waters, Ageless Beach—words fail to capture the essence of this otherworldly river. It defies the conventions of existence, flowing ceaselessly in every direction, composed solely of golden dust that moves with the fluidity of a liquid. The power emanating from the river is palpable, vast, and incomprehensible, like a force that shapes the very fabric of reality.
It goes beyond Sigils. It goes beyond Ether. It simply is.
Amidst the fractured reality, a call echoes through the cracks, a summons that transcends the frozen moments of manipulated time. The pull is undeniable, drawing me toward the River of Time. It tugs at my hand, a force that seems intimately connected to the very sands within the hourglass.
Shaw... what the fuck did you make? No... The Second didn't make this. He only made the hourglass, not the sands. He stole the latter from the River of Time.
As I feel myself being dragged toward the cracks in reality, I refuse to succumb to the inevitability of the pull. A determination surges within me, a resilience against the inexorable force trying to claim me. Frozen within the manipulated time, I resist the draw, clinging to my sense of self and purpose.
Still, within the halted reality, I move, my body sliding across the floor toward the air that is broken like a mirror. It wasn't my vision that was affected. It was reality itself.
As I slide toward the hole, however, the hourglass in my hand cracks wholly, shattering into a thousand pieces. And from the sand, actual sand, unlike Vincent's infinite insects, a hand emerges. The hand shifts forward while I am still paralyzed in time and clenches around the holes in existence.
Then, it clenches them closed in only a moment.
In awe, I remain staring at the hand. Sand falls from it, only to rewind backward, returning to it so that none ever truly leave. The palm twists to face me as if intelligent. It then glances at the hourglass shattered below me.
And before my very eyes, it speaks without a mouth or lungs, merely echoing itself through the sands. I can hardly understand what is occurring, let alone do anything about it.
"An anomaly. How intriguing. Death should have taken you long ago. And yet... even with a negative time, you remain. Interesting. Very, very interesting. It has been... a long time since I last saw a Voyager. What year is it, pray tell, child?"
I can't even speak as I'm so lost by his words. I try to answer him, convinced it won't even work due to the altered time, yet it does.
"We just entered 1680 two days ago."
The hand crinkles in reply to my words, as if hurt by them. It seems to possess a life and emotions, but as the sand falls more and more, my eyes bear witness to its fetters.
Midnight purple. The same as Ytern and Tonyun.
A Dominion. A Demigod. The highest level a mortal can reach. Where all but Vincent have stopped their ascensions, no matter how great.
What the fuck did Aniwye give me?
If my heart could beat, it would be hammering away right now in preparation for my life's most significant, grandest fight, yet the palm of sand simply twists away. It hovers toward the wall of the cellar before facing me once more. Its voice is calm, reassuring, and as wise as a tone can be. The words echo through the air without an audible origin, but they sink deeply into my ears without hesitation.
"Thank you for releasing me, child. I would introduce myself... but... I don't remember my name anymore. I don't even remember when or where I come from. I only remember that there is something I must do. For a long... long time, I have attempted to break out, but it seems none of my children managed to use the tools I left behind for the final push. To you... it has been many years. To me... however... the number does not exist it is so large. Before I leave, however, I can give you a gift, as it would seem I took away the spare time you were owed."
A line of sand flies toward me from him. I flinch to dodge it, unable to move anymore, but it reaches me all the same. In my caution, the forgetful figure speaks to me once again before entering and leaving through a solid wall.
"Fret not. It will not hurt you. You sought more time, yes? Here is three months. It is all I can bestow until I find the rest."
Time hastens, but only to a crawl, almost wholly frozen instead of utterly halted. Bonfire's pupils hardly shift despite his panic. Meanwhile, I move at only a slightly faster pace, thanks to my own speed.
What the fuck was that? Who was that?
Was that the Forgotten One? The Prime without a name? The Timewarped Delver? Even he forgot his own name? How did he get there? How did I free him?
Voyager?
The rest?
What is happening?
I calm myself, taking a deep breath despite how long it takes me to do so. At least I can move. Plus, my Ether circulates at a normal pace. All of this is so bizarre. Time manipulation? This is far, far beyond anything Johnny could possibly do. Timewarped Delver... That book of Johnny's has to be connected. What was the author's name?! I swear I read it and committed it to memory. Where did it go!?
No, I need to focus. He gave me time. I should make the most of it. I can worry about this man when I have someone I can speak to. As of right now, I'd only be thinking in circles.
Finding my resolve again, I reconjure my chains, and I fall back into the gradual practice. To reach that same point, however, nearly two weeks pass.
**************************
After calming Bonfire down a week ago due to the altered time affecting our communication, I stare with rapt attention at my chains. I feel something changing, something not of my own accord yet still aligned with me. It's like the Ether attaches to my soul but not my consciousness. Aniwye must not know the full truth of the Ether manipulation. I suppose only I would due to the sense I have over my own soul from the Philosopher Sigil.
As my soul intertwines with the Enfetter, I witness a subtle transformation. The chains, once subject to a predetermined fate or my direct control, exhibit a resilience that defies their fleeting nature. They resist decay. It's hard to notice as they already faded somewhat slowly, but I do see it. From minutes to days, they turn more solid, more substantial. Their radiant and multicolored links display a tenacity that extends beyond the confines of my immediate control.
Excitement courses through me as my soul weaves a subtle connection. I let it occur independently, careful not to force anything, imbuing the chains with a newfound vitality. Enfetter, once bound by my design, now exhibits a semblance of autonomy, a flicker of consciousness that allows my chains to adapt and move in ways I had only dreamed.
A slight smile grows on my face as I watch the fetters twist on their own like curious animals searching for food. It is slow but still faster than my own movement due to the Ether's speed once leaving my body.
I watch the soulful metal on my wrist stare at me as if it has eyes. Then, it curls around the entire of my left arm, conjoining with my flesh yet not falling into it. Like that of a tamed boa, it rests peacefully despite the danger it holds.
Living Strand down.
Plasmic Ether to go.
