Like I can’t believe I’m even making a post like this but since morning and I saw multiple tweets that were so frustrating and just weird at normal things like some people in the fandom need to calm down and stop reaching in their reactions and to start treating the cast as normal human beings
Last night at the afterparty there weren’t many pictures of the cast together and when they took it was mainly either with Shonda or with some people but there weren’t many together on their own I guess and some people are being very weird about it and it is so annoying to see like I can’t stress enough how annoyed I’m by this kind of behavior
1- just because they didn’t take many pictures together it doesn’t mean the cast hate one another like sense when closeness or love or friendship is measured by pictures and videos taking together like it’s so unserious to base the cast friendships on that
2-the afterparty did seem have off vibes I agree but from what some who went was that the vibes were like that due to the mood being down due to disorganization of everything plus everyone clearly looked tired and I did watch the live stream for the premiere and they all looked very tired. They are human being they are allowed to feel or look tired and going around to take pictures and videos with everyone requires lots of effort and it’s hard to do so when you are tired and just want to chill or rest after long day
3-this about shippers, some “kanthony” shippers after the met gala made weird stories that SA & JB hate just because they didn’t interact at the party. It happened again last night when some “polin” shippers got upset that Luke and Nic didn’t have much pictures or videos together at the afterparty and now some are making up stories that both hate one another in real life which is completely ridiculous when they clearly are friends and have been friends for years now like just because they weren’t sticking to one another throughout the entire party it doesn’t mean that their friendship is fake and that they hate one another like come on now

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Bright illuminescant flashes bolted through the dark-lit sky, rushing and raging through clouds seemingly made of gossamer and finely woven felt. You could almost reach out and touch them if not for the raging storm ripping and hollering. It shone and splintered along the sky, splitting into a thousand arcs, each converging and convexing along the stars. Electrical currents spun like lavender spider webs along a farmhouse wall. The arcs traveled, painting a vibrant tapestry along its wake before reaching their climax and releasing a wicked KRAK as the lights slowly faded.
The gossamer clouds wept tears of dull acidic rain that fell, cascading downwards. Down to the swampy fetid fields below. Their droplets splashed and sizzled against the sand, slowly fizzing before hardening into a thin velvet glass before beginning all over again. A sad display of god’s fury laid bare and plain for all to see. The rain had begun just a week prior, but its assault had persisted in a constant pattern ever since. The swamp ached and squirmed in an agonizing way as the rain melted away any sign of basic life.
Puddles of the acidic deluge collected along a road leading to the once fertile silver mine, just three miles from the town of Crestfall. Near the edge of the road, a fork splits off into multiple directions. South of the fork leads to the entrance of Deep Rock Mine. The mine’s entrance stands agape, resting at the base of a mountain. The mine’s layout, a cavern of crisscrossing and haphazardly formed tunnels, awaited past the thick darkness entrapping the entrance. They curve and wind up the spine of the mountain, as well as descend deep into the now dead earth.
The face of the mountain was bare but rough. Rocks jutted and sloped along its curvature, forming a near mesmeric pattern of spiked granite. Towards the peak, a malicious and not all entirely natural pattern emerged. As the acidic rain fell, framing the mountainous backdrop, the pattern watched and waited. An almost human-like visage stretched along the face of the mountain like canvas pulled over a wooden frame. It’s design scorn into the rock itself as if meticulously laid out to warn any who dared breach the confines of the swamp.
Silence lingered amongst the misty atmospheric dredge, save for the muffled and subtle ambietic sounds of the rain. Through the dead foliage and gnarled remains of creatures recently passed, a sound rang forth. Distant exclamation and reverberated clanging rhythmically sounded from deep within the mine. Up and down the mine laid stalactites and stalagmites haphazardly stationed around every corner. Their abrupt positioning cast shadows wherever light felt unable to reach. The mine walls were smooth from years of work and toilage, along with the long uninterrupted tunnels, created an almost echo chamber for sound.
Abrupt crashes and distant thrashes echoed through the winding chamber. Its sounds detailed a fierce battle between clashing swords and fervent blows.
Or so it would seem.
A sword, emblazoned with the sigil of a raven, flew across the dimly lit room. Its body crashes and clings as it skips along the floor, its blade slashing and carving thin lines into the granite flooring as it makes contact with the ground. A fierce shadow sprawls along the cave walls, depicting a struggle between foes.
The wanderer-and recent owner of the raven crested blade-crashes to the floor. Leather straps firmly tied around his shoulder blades catch most of the weight of the fall, but pain still echoed through his nerves.
“Hells! You slimy bastard!” The wanderer winces and yells in a blinded fury. “You don’t play fair, and here I thought we were having a nice sport of it.”
No reply immediately came from his opponent, still standing off near a downed torch. Flame wisped and flicked along the ground, casting shadows and dreaded omens as if they were ripped directly from a child’s nightmare.
At once, the foe stepped forward. The shadows sprawled across the walls painted a disturbing picture of horror and grotesque form. Imaginative figures born from shadows were always so much more terrible than the beings that cast them, but in this case it was clearly the other way around. The foe opposite The Wanderer lurched forward, it's body a gnarled vestige of exoskeleton and mandibles. It almost resembled a large insect, like a praying mantis that decided its evolutionary cycle had not quite finished yet.
On multi-socketed legs, it snapped and convulsed along. Every movement of its body felt agonizing, as if the creature was hastily thrown together by a quite absent god. Various olive and violet fluids oozed and dripped from its husk like body as it vocalized terrible sounds. The creature-seemingly unable to speak-produced noises from its mouth that resembled a mix of gargles and marbles being tossed along a wooden floor. All the while, its grotesque pincer like appendage snapped and clicked almost involuntarily.
The wanderer-still recovering from his fall-slowly pushed his body along the cold rocky ground, his arm still pulsing with pain.
“Oh my, what big mouths you have.” The wanderer teased sounding much more worried than he intended. ‘Always good to keep in control of the situation. Confidence is key.’ As he was always want to say, but this wasn’t an ordinary situation.
His arm traced along the ground, reaching and prodding for his recently lost weapon. Daring not look away from the oncoming threat, he felt nothing. His sword was currently resting near the opposite side of the cave room, resting flat along the ground. Away from The Wanderer’s grasp, far away from being of any further use here it seemed.
Doubt surged through his mind, but only for a short time. ‘Doubt breeds more doubt, and further doubt breeds ruin’, another favorite.
Clenched palms moved along the granite flooring. Leather gloves scraped and bruised as The Wanderer lifted back to his feet, regaining balance and fervor. The arm that had broken his fall felt numb and altogether absent.
‘Dislocated most likely, not a big enough fall to break.’
The insect-like foe-still closing the distance between them-snapped and gurgled in an almost territorial display of aggression.
The Wanderer grinned, placing his uninjured arm against its opposite’s elbow, before violently, yet methodically, pushing it upwards. A clear snap, followed by a dull pop echoed through the room. Feeling began pouring back into his arm as the vibrating itch of numbness faded. Both arms began to raise, fists clenched, the leather gloves creased and squelched from the sheer pressure as his hands formed tightly wounded fists. Fists pointed squarely towards the all not entirely normal creature still gurgling and jerking along the shadow filled room.
“Oh...” The Wanderer began. “I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t enjoy every second of this.” His fists raised up, reaching level with the bridge of his nose. “Come one now, give us yer best.”
As if understanding -and altogether disliking- the series of vulgar remarks thrusted toward it, the creature squealed through its deformed face. The jerking motion its movement seemed to have before was replaced with a fluid dash as it quickly closed the distance between the two adversaries. Arms outstretched as its gnarled and jagged hands opened and closed with violent snaps and twinges. Reaching out, grasping the air between them. The gap closed quickly, much quicker than he anticipated, but not enough to catch him entirely off guard as he shifts weight from right the left. The slender frame of his body flanking to the side of the creature.
Shadows arched and flailed with each movement, creating a strange optical illusion across the cave walls. The subtle shifting wind and osculation of the two fighters created an almost mural of events through the flames. Clashing swords, trumpeting horns and creatures that rivaled the tallest spires in Etheral began to converge into an unrecognizable painting of events. The fire loomed, gazing at the creature, at The Wanderer. Its gaze almost purposeful and full of intent. Neither the two beings made any note of the grand display unfolding around them. Fire is known to be a harsh mentor, and an even harsher ally. If one was to wander too deeply into its wounding gaze, one might find themselves trapped, forever living in the tapestry it painted.
The creature was fast, but nowhere as fast as him. Once useless, now repaired, the dislocated arm wrapped between the creatures glistening forearm, interlocking before weight shifted again. The creature stalled as if to reorient itself to face the man, but its movements were not its own. Quickly and deftly, The Wanderer placed immense weight on his forward foot, counterbalancing against the creature as their locked arms rotated and shifted sideways. Arching forward, the shift in balance quickly broke as the creature began to lift in the air as The Wanderer’s rear leg lifted to relegate pressure onward. Flailing and spewing its noxious fluid, the creature flipped entirely, finally crashing to the floor in a savage crunch. The Wanderer stands above, looking downward as it convulses in a fit of pain (could it even quantify pain) and anger.
A greyish foul-smelling slime coated The Wanderer’s chest and forearm. Small indentions formed along the hard leather surface of his jacket, most likely from the not entirely cosmetic spikes embedded into the creature.
“Alright, now I’d say we’re fairly close to a draw here.” The Wanderer began. “How’s say we handle the rest with a bit more diplomacy and grace? No point and making a bigger stink than we already got, but telling by the state of yourself, I’d say you know all about stink.”
The maddening gurgle of the creature slowed as its body began to calm. Its arms moving outward, sprawling along the hard granite rock as its legs raise along with the rest of it. Wet dew drips along the ground, rippling and casting weird reflections from all directions as the creature steps slowly along their puddles. Slow anxious steps it takes. Its demeanor changes from a wild and disturbed animal to a more methodic and wary being. Eyes of bluish gray sink into its head, pupils moving slowly, analyzing and taking in information. It stands straight, back locked into an opposing stance. God it was big. The man couldn’t much get a good measurement before with its body slouched over in a hermit like stance. It must be at least seven feet tall, equally proportioned from its legs to its torso. The head was rounded, almost human, with its bug-like mandibles protruding in a horrific fashion.
The Wanderer had dealt with creatures before. Along his travels he had come across a litany of monstrous beings; Wargs, Secrolants, Jittering Fiends, Goblins, Spiderlings. None of them quite matched the state of this one. Although he had heard of such beings, none had crossed paths before. The way it moved, the way it thought, it all was abnormal. It's quite simple to take a beast down, some you anger and gain the advantage, some you outsmart, others you can simply scare away. But this one.... oh, he was a different breed entirely. The way its mood could change mid-fight, or how it seemingly understood what was being said. And the way it stared. Thoughts were jutting along in the bug brain of its, and when monsters start thinking, all strategy and preparation goes out the window. Unpredictable is what they become, and prediction was The Wanderer’s bread and butter.
Wary now he waits, staring back at the creature. Locked eyes, they waited. Eyes filled with thought, filled with understanding and reasoning -but most egregiously- they were filled with malice. The fight was not over, they had just reached half-time.
“Let it not be stated that I did not strive for peace and harmony at every turn.” The Wanderer quipped, his hand raised once more, ready for another assault.
A flame flickers, casting shadows once again. Shadows of a man holding wolves at bay, hands outstretched to create a distance between them. The wolves circled and plotted, looking for weakness at every tune, but finding none. Leaves fell, becoming ash as they reached the ground. A fire spreads amongst the ash laden floor, consuming the visage, the man, the wolves. All in consumed in an immense concentrated heat, until the shadows fade to nothingness once more.
The creature meanders onward, just a few steps at a time; looking on as The Wanderer holds his footing, fists raised and ready. Each step of its hard glistening exoskeleton crunches against small rocks and debris sprawled along the cave floor, knocking them aside, producing echoed wails that seemingly bounced from surface to surface. After the third step it abruptly launches at the man, arms outstretched once more in a fit of animalistic fury. Thought seemingly left its eyes as they glazed over into a dull grey, the feeling and reasoning sinking further and further to the back of its mind. The Wanderer grinned, his stance loosening as the soles of his feet began to trace an outline of movement, preparing and readying for a counteroffensive. As its dripping breached the outline, The Wanderer shifted his weight once more, quickly flanking the creature to the side once again, but something was off. His eyes traced the movements of its body, of its arms, of its legs. The animosity in them seemed to almost shift mid attack, becoming lucid and methodical. As if the creature was dancing along with him. Even tracing down to the ground, the footing was wrong. Not his footing. He was always perfect. The dance was memorized, trained, honed to a sharp edge. No, it was the creature’s.
Abruptly the creature’s body shifted, its legs tracing backwards, its torso shifting to the side. A corrective action, a counterattack to his counterattack. Shadows of the pair danced along the cave wall, depicting a wickedly abstract waltz. The creature’s arm whipped outward, its claws barreling towards the thin leather separation between his elbow and forearm. God, it was fast. Faster than The Wanderer. Rip, flash, a bright light, then the crashing of feet as the two returned to their original standing.
It all happened so fast. Faster than he could articulate. He was used to speed, used to tracking and understanding battle situations, creating countermeasures, analyzing the most likely move and executing it within a fraction of a second. All of that was done, but it was all wrong. The creature moved in peculiar fashion, acted as if it were moving on instinct while simultaneously acting with thought and strategy. How could it possibly go both ways?
As he thought, mouth slightly open, breath pouring between his lips in a hot and heavy fashion, he hardly thought of anything else. They had made contact, but there was no feeling. Checking for wounds mid-encounter was generally out of the question with beasts. Often, they gave little time for thought or first aid, but the creature stood and waited. The dull grey look in its eyes were gone again, replaced with the methodical gaze of a strategist analyzing a battlefield. The Wanderer lowered his right arm and traced it along the path of his elbow, reaching his shoulder before he felt it. A definite gash traced about two inches wide, the depth of it couldn’t be guessed, but it had breached the leather. As his hand returned to a fist, warm fresh blood dripped between the fingers, falling and coagulating against the dust and pebbles along the ground. He had indeed been injured, but there was no feeling to it. All felt well, and that’s precisely why all was, in fact, not well.
“You’re a strange one. Not quite like anything I’ve seen before, but I’ll get to know you real well soon enough.”
His eyes moved from the creature, scanning along the ground. Before when this was a simple clean-up, a weapon would be handy, but hardly required of someone with his skills, but this was anything but simple. Parameters had changed, he’d very much like his sword back now.
It was nowhere to be seen initially. The room was dark, with little else than a soft glow from the fallen torch illuminating a small area and casting shadows that obscured others. Then it appeared. Near the feet of the creature, the raven crested blade sat where it had since the beginning of this strange dual. Thoughts echoed along in his head, casting suspicions and doubt in every facet of the encounter. Things were not as they appeared.
A slight grin crept along his face again, before quickly subsiding. “Think I have enough time for one more go of it. Care to lead?”
The creature stood, watching and plotting before the dull grey of its eyes appeared once again, launching it into another fury. It lunged, arms outstretched again, running full speed to the man. He simply stood, his hands loosening from tightly wound fists of rock to loosely packed fists of snow. His palms opened slightly; his footing loosened as the heels of his feet digging into the hard rocky floor. They began to move slightly, tracing a straight horizontal line where he stood as he slowly began to back away. The creature, still in a frenzy, closes the distance fast. Seemingly faster than any previous assault as The Wanderer ceased his slow backing retreat, his feet returning to a strong stance, soles digging deep into the earth. He takes in a breath, his heartrate slowing. The light sounds of the cave begin to grow, becoming more apparent and concentrated. Small droplets of dew falling from the ceiling, wind softly blowing along, echoing through the harrowed halls and the flickering of a flame slowly speaking its ancient language. They all converged, mirroring themselves as The Wanderer’s eyes closed. Time seemed to slow as the creature came closer, its steps further apart, its maddening gurgling seemingly floating away. It stepped, stepped and stepped along the ground, pushing pebbles and dust without thought.
Finally, it reached the line carved into the rock. Its foot crunched, making contact with the earth, and in an instant its eyes reverted again. The grey dullness seeping away to its methodically stategistic norm. In that instant, The Wanderers eyes erupted open. The chittering thing’s arms stretch out for his neck, hoping to seize his artery with its horrific claws. Quickly, quicker than anything that day, The Wanderer moved in a fast range of motions that all seemingly happened at once. His weight once again shifted, flanking the creature. His arms locked into a position of counterattack. The creature quickly issued its own countermeasure, once again whipping its body and throwing its claw outward, aiming higher than before, aiming for his neck.
A flame moved. Shadows formed along the walls once more, although they showed a different scene. A scene depicting two swordsman locked in deathly combat. Their swords swinging violently but with grace and purpose. They clashed a thousand times. Each time sending a spray of bright sparks that swelled through the air creating intricate patterns that lingered before slowly fading.
The creature was stuck, unable to move, unable to continue its assault and unable to return to its desired location. The Wanderer's palm grasped the creature's wrist tightly, locking it into a hold. The grey of the creature’s eyes were completely gone now as its pupils darted around in panic. His hand arched forward, his foot kicking –what would assumedly be- the creature’s calf, buckling its knees and forcing it to the ground. Cracking and popping erupted from the joints of its arm as his grip tightened. It’s gurgling became sporadic, as if pleading to be set free. He simply watched it, once against studying its behavior, its patterns, its mannerisms.
“You really are special. Not like anything in the world I imagine, but what makes you so special.” The Wanderer clenched his hold tighter, the creature falls lower, its face pushing into the cold rock. “You were playing a game, weren’t you? You understand what I’m saying too, and that I can assure you is indeed something special. Predicting my movements, using the techniques against me. You weren’t just fighting for a meal. You were learning, weren’t you?”
The creature clicked and gurgled, chittering against the ground as the hard surface of its arm began to crack.
“Now, I’m not opposed to teaching if I aim to gain something from it, but what I won’t abide is being played with. Now...” He plants his foot against the back of the creature's neck, both arms holding its locked appendage in a pulling motion. “I think I deserve to know a little more about you my foul-smelling friend, and if I’m right up until this point, you outta know exactly what I’m saying. I also assume you know a threat when you hear one. So...” His grip tightens, his leather boot slowly crunched against the creature’s skull. “Tell me what you are, and where you learned to be so damn special.”
The creature’s eyes widen, the dull grey returning, filling its retinas as it begins to violently convulse. A shrill screech fills the room, echoing along the walls, traveling through the twisting and winding tunnels of the long-forgotten mine. Shadows creep along the cave walls once more, scattering and convulsing, twisting into horrid and unimaginable shapes. Creatures that belong to fables and horror tales begin flooding along the shapes as the flame whips and crackles. The torch quickly combusts, the flames turning a sharp blackish violet. Heat bellows from the waves of ember emitting from the now monumental display of hellfire as the shadows multiply, taking over every inch of coverage. The Wanderer’s ears tremble at the immense noise, his vision begins to weaken as the shrill echo reaches a climactic crescendo. Any more of this and it’s all over, lights out.
He looks downward to the creature, its mind warped with whatever dark arts influenced it. His grip tightens as his foot presses firmly against the back of its head. Slow crunching and cracking sounds begin to intermingle with the terrible sounds of its cry. As the boot came down, harder and harder, the creature’s terrible screech began to thin and grow in pitch, like the air being slowly released from a balloon. Then, a horrendous snap before the head was no more. Violet and green brain matter covered the area around its neck as small fragments of skull of tissue caked along the sides of his boots. All at once the cry stopped, and along with it the room slowly began to darken. The flame began to slowly dwindle back to its original size, its color returning to a soft orange glow.
The Wanderer stepped back; his eyes firmly planted on the now deceased creature lying before him. A pool of its blood slowly trickled along the floor, reaching for his sword. Slowly, his body lumbered to the lost blade. Its handle was wrapped in scaled pitch blade leather, its blade a vibrant silver, still glistening with oil. The visage of a raven prominently scorn into the finish of the blade itself. Before the foul-smelling blood reaches the blade, the man slowly leans down to collect it. His body ached, his arms felt heavy and as the world around him began to dim, he retrieved the blade. Weighing it in his hand he felt secure, like a lost piece of him was restored with its retrieval. It felt so much heavier than before, or maybe he had just been weakened from the encounter. He gazed down upon it, his hand clenched hard around the dark leather handle. A dark fluid began to pool around his hand, streaming softly down from his arm.
The Wanderer turned his arm over, now looking at the wound he had taken from the creature’s first counterattack. It didn’t seem very bad, or at least not as bad as previous wounds he’d sustained, but the bleeding was alarming. It streamed softly, almost without notice. The blood itself was dark as well, as if it had already begun coagulation. A strange wound. A worrying wound. Suddenly his head became light, the room began to dim, and the walls started to blur. No, everything about this was wrong.
In the strange lucid state he was left in, he almost didn’t notice the changes around him. A quite fell over the room, the flickering flame seemed to even quite down to a faint whisper. A soft noise crept along the ground. Soft tapping, the sound of pebbles and rock being pushed aside, dust parting between single soft strides. The pain in his head grew louder, his heartbeat thumping from his chest to his forearm, ending finally against his forehead.
What is happening to me?
As if to answer, a rapid movement jostled him back to reality as he quickly turned, sword still gripped tightly in hand. A quick flash of movement rushed towards him, its motioned and sounds all too familiar to him. As nimbly as he can muster, he raises his blade outward in an attempt to impale the newfound enemy now barreling towards him, but a twinge of searing pain in his shoulder halts the attack. All he manages is a defensive stance, sword raised, arm placed behind the blade to prepare for impact as the creature crashes into him.
They both fall, splashing into the violet puddle of dank smelling blood that has pooled along the cave floor. A creature –almost identical to the one lying dead beside him- lies atop the blade protecting his body. Its arms crash against the leather bracers protecting his soft flesh. Claws come crashing down, scrapping against leather, making large slashes in them but not enough to break fully through the thick coating. Slime and mucus drip down from its maw, coating The Wanderer’s arms and neck. His arms are placed defensively against the side end of the blade, separating the two, but he can feel himself weakening further and further. Rough outlines of the creature emerge through blurred vision. Heat travels along his arm and forehead, casting confusion and sweat to pour over his body.
What the hell is happening!?
Suddenly, the creature lunges its head down, breaching the space between the blade and The Wanderer’s neck. Its snapping pincer like mandible opening and shutting in rapid and rabid bites. Before it has a chance to make contact, The Wanderer frees one of his trapped hands and grapples the creature’s head. With strength slowly fading from his body, he fruitlessly pushed back the creature's disgusting face. With every inch he pushes, the creature seemingly gains two. A battle of attrition begins. Snapping, clawing, drooling the creature continues its unending assault. Reach for the soft part of his neck in hopes of ending the encounter in a single bite. Just one slip, and its lights out. Forgotten and left to be fed on to a host of disgusting bugs. The thought rips through his mind, his veins fill with hot fire, his muscles contract creating energy that wasn’t there before. He pushes hard against the creature’s head, pushing it past the breach in the sword until his arm reaches full length.
The energy’s fading, the small window of opportunity’s closing, and for once in his miserable life, he can’t think of a thing to do. The hand not grappling with the creatures head pulls free from the back of the sword. His fingers slowly begin moving, drawing a pattern in the air. Faint lines form, like strokes from a dry paintbrush. Lines sparkle and faintly crackle with weak power, power being sapped away. The pattern is rough and unfinished, its edges not straight, its lines fumbling. The feeling in his fingers is weak. Strength fading, the pattern breaks as his hand twitches before returning to the blade. Fire begins erupting from the torch again, the strange violet flame re-emerges and casts strange shadows once again along the cave walls. Shadows depicting men falling in the thousands, figures standing above them. A strange light emits from the wrecked battlefield as the dominant figures rise, floating above, breaching unending clouds and sending a cleansing fire downward. Fire spreads along the walls, engulfing the shadows, casting them far away as it shrieks and flickers violently. The Wanderer’s vision begins to fade. The world around begins to dull. Rocky walls, granite floors, the creature all fade, losing color and becoming shadows themselves. Heat wells in his head, as tears stream down his cheek.
I can’t.
Shadows slowly engulf him as the energy drains from his arms.
I won’t
The creature’s face inches closer and closer to its target.
This is where it ends.
The fire erupts, banishing the shadows away once more, filling the room with soft orange light as the creature lunges uninterrupted at its prize.
Then nothing. The pain of stabbing pincers ripping along his throat never occurs. Instead, a loud CLAP echoes along the walls. It’s deafening and almost endless, but it's over in an instant. A river of fluid splashes along The Wanderer’s face and body. It’s warm and thick like syrup but smells like rotten apple cores. For a moment, he contemplates if this is death. A strange death, and a strange place to end up, but who’s to know. Before long his eyes opened. The creature that stood hunched over him was still there, but its head was entirely missing. Fragments of skull and viscera lined the walls and floor around him as the creature stood cold, dead. Seemingly out of nowhere, its head just seemed to explode.
“Did...” The Wanderer began quizzically. “Did I do that?”
Before an answer could be given, a shuffle could be heard across the room, hidden against the far wall deep within the dark. Slowly The Wanderer rose, knocking the deceased creature away from him, the feeling and strength slowly returning to his body. He stared off to the dark corner, waiting in vain for his eyes to adjust to the dark. They didn’t. Bending down, he grasped his sword in one hand, and what remained of the faint torch in the other as he cautiously meandered to the muffled sound coming from the dark corner.
“Gods, if it’s one more of these disgusting fucking things, I’m straight gone.”
Slowly, the image of a man appears. He almost seemed affixed to the wall due to some form of slightly translucent webbing sprawled across his body. His feet were a few inches raised from the floor as he hung limply against the wall. A thin layer of the same substance covered his mouth as he muffled violently to The Wanderer, his eyes red and spread as wide as they could go. Near the middle of the webbing his right hand was tightly bound, unable to move. On the other side, it seemed he was able to shake loose enough to free it. A silver revolver with gold carved inlays held tightly between his fingers. Faint trails of smoke emanated from the pistol’s barrel. The smell of spent gunpowder lingered In the air, a smell The Wanderer had memorized.
The Wanderer looked puzzlingly at the man stuck to the wall, before a spark of remembrance and realization came to life in his eyes. Sweat beaded down the side of his head, slowing before soaking into his shirt collar. That chance encounter had taken its toll, and had gone on for longer than he thought, longer than he had hoped.
“Hells man, I had forgotten entirely of you. Why not speak up next time?”
The stuck man convulsed in a fit of annoyance and fury as The Wanderer laughed heartily.

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About half of the student body was blinded by the sudden and intense flash of light that blanketed the room.
The other half seemed to have reacted in time to shield themselves from that unexpected assault on the senses.
I was part of that latter half.
And what I saw during those precious few seconds of visual overstimulation was nothing short of remarkable.
The walls that had resembled Mal’tory’s dark and dreary office quaked and quivered in place, as if the whole room was a living organism, and we were somehow nestled within its guts.
Each of the ornate wooden panels began dislodging from one another, their formerly flush surfaces cracking, revealing seams where there had been none before. These seams too began expanding, as each of the panels started wobbling, wiggling, then eventually disconnecting from one another entirely; moving independently of one another as if freeing themselves from a long-dormant state.
For a moment, they looked almost like a reptile’s scales when put under magnification.
Then, and without any warning, they began disappearing, each panel violently pulled back and into some dark anomalous void that existed behind the walls themselves; sending the EVI into another fit of spatial error reports.
We were, for a split second, completely wall-less. But not a second after the old walls had been… for lack of a better term — banished to the literal shadow realm, did a set of new walls suddenly take their place.
And quite dramatically too.
As an entirely new wallface suddenly emerged darkness of the void, one that was earthy in tones, and reminded me more of those old teakwood heritage buildings back on Earth. There were fewer embellishments to them compared to the previous Victorian-styled walls, less patterns and ostentatious designs, instead simply going with this less is more approach that left vast empty gaps where decorations and patterns were previously present. It was almost as if they were left empty and bare for a reason.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 475% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
Out of nowhere, dozens of pots, planters, and trellises suddenly embedded themselves through the wall, decorating what was no longer a blank canvas.
Plantlife soon followed this open invitation for a free home, as hundreds of flowers bloomed all across the wall, carefully trimmed and perfectly appointed to the lattice structures they coiled on, with not a single one of them looking too wild or out of place.
The sudden and abrupt remodeling completely threw me off.
At least, until the source of it all suddenly made themselves known.
“Welcome, first years, to Mana-field perception and Light Magic theory.” The voice continued, as through the literal haze of change came a female figure that the EVI had little problem assigning a name and identifier to.
ENTITY IFF CONFIRMED: A109 Apprentice Larial Essen - NEXUS [CORDIAL]
Yet strangely, the metallic footsteps that I’d heard just before she crossed the staff door’s threshold didn’t seem to follow her. Instead, only the apprentice emerged from the door behind the lectern.
She continued towards the lectern with a forced and somewhat stiff poise and gait, her general demeanor identical to how she carried herself prior to the whole crate saga. Which was of course, stern, tired, and completely unyielding; a fact supported by the impeccable posture she used to walk into class.
Though the class’ focus certainly wasn’t on her demeanor, or her posture, nor even on the room that had completely morphed into a completely different space.
No.
It was instead almost squarely focused on the apprentice’s cloak, which was most certainly not black.
This prompted the entire room to erupt into a frenzy of whispers, tempered only by those daring enough to deploy privacy screens.
But before those antics could evolve any further, and before my mind could even catch up with this turn of events, a loud, high-pitched, and unbroken — SHUSH — erupted from the front of the class. Emerging from a certain gorn-like lizard, who’d stood up to face us rather than the apprentice currently manning her podium. “ALL STUDENTS RISE!” He commanded.
To which the entire class followed, with the only two tentative parties being myself and a certain bull.
“ALL STUDENTS FORWARD AND BOW!” He continued, prompting the whole class to follow suit, and from there, receiving a head-tilt’s worth of praise from the apprentice.
“Thank you, Lord Qiv.” The apprentice spoke appreciatively, before setting her sights on the rest of the desks and chairs—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 200% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—which were subsequently transformed into brighter-toned variants of their formerly dark and depressive selves. “I understand that there may be quite a few lingering questions amongst the crowd that quite a few of you wish to be addressed. In the spirit of ensuring that these needless thoughts and senseless rumors do not come to cloud your mind throughout the rest of class, thereby rendering these lessons moot, I wish for them to be addressed here and now.” Larial announced tacitly, but with a severity that was clearly modeled off of her mentor.
The mood of the room quickly changed following that.
But instead of shifting to the deference and submission in Articord’s class, or the tentative acceptance of Vanavan’s class, there was instead an overarching tone of outright confusion.
It was as if the whole class didn’t know how best to handle the situation.
But whilst the rest of the room remained undecided, with a few shaky hands rising up one by one, a sense of relief quickly washed over me as my emotions finally managed to catch up to the rapidly developing turn of events.
I couldn’t help but to immediately activate the in-armor positional readjustment mode in the suit, allowing myself to just… slouch; as I took in the class with a renewed wave of reprieve.
It was that same feeling you get when you arrive on the day of the test, only to find it delayed by a week. Or that feeling you get when a notification arrives in the dead of night, on the eve of a presentation, to inexplicably announce that the whole project was now put on hold due to some unforeseen event.
But unlike those situations where the why of the situation didn’t really matter… here, it most certainly did.
Which prompted me to listen in, as the questions began flying towards the apprentice.
“If I may be the one so brazen as to offer myself as the voice of the year group, Apprentice Essen?” A certain Auris Ping took the lead, having been chosen by the apprentice amidst a sea of equally inquisitive hands.
“The floor is yours, Lord Ping.” The apprentice proclaimed.
“Thank you, Apprentice.” The bull responded curtly, eliciting a particularly intense glare from the likes of Thalmin. “Where is Professor Mal’tory?”
The apprentice’s features shifted somewhat at that question, as if she wasn’t expecting something that blunt and straightforward right out of the gate. “The professor’s whereabouts are the business of the Academy’s faculty and staff.” She spoke firmly, yet with an authority that she was clearly under equipped to wield. “If you wish to inquire as to the nature of this class going forward, I will be more than happy to-”
A series of hands were raised even before the apprentice had even finished her sentence. Which prompted the overworked and exhausted elf to switch over to another student before she even had time to finish her own thoughts. “The floor is yours, Lady Ladona.”
“Thank you, Apprentice. Now, to clarify, are we to expect you to be teaching us for the rest of this class?” The being, which I could only describe as a butterfly with most of their insectoid-traits toned down, asked politely.
“That is correct, Lady Ladona.”
“And is this expected to continue for… the rest of the month?” Ladona continued, her features shifting if only to show her growing sense of confidence.“The semester perhaps? Or maybe even the rest of the school year?” She continued at a rapid-fire pace, making a point to catch the apprentice off-guard before she could even respond to that first point.
“The responsibility of tutelage has been deferred to me on the basis of Professor Mal’tory’s current inability to fulfill this particular aspect of his responsibilities owing to his current engagements. This will remain so, until the Professor returns from said engagements.” The apprentice responded in that same jaded, no-nonsense tone of voice she’d used during our pre-life debt interactions.
It was, however, woefully inadequate in dealing with the likes of a vicious social predator like Ladona, who immediately waded through the tepid waters towards the first sign of weakness. “So when can we expect his return, Apprentice?” She pushed further, her polite tone of voice acting like a velvet cloth, barely concealing the sharp mandibles beneath it.
“That is something I cannot answer.” The apprentice replied sternly, taking a stand against the shark that had now tasted blood in the water.
“Is this because of a lack of correspondence to the faculty?” The butterfly-person shot back quickly with an innocent cock of her head, her antennae swaying as she did so.
“I am not at a privilege to divulge such details, and that is most certainly not the case, Lady Ladona.”
“My apologies, Apprentice.” Ladona spoke in a calculated show of apologetics. “In any case, am I to assume then that in addition to the responsibility of tutelage, that the responsibilities of proctorship, examination, and evaluation, have likewise been deferred to you?” She shifted gears once more, this time, her question garnered quite a few murmurs to emerge from the rest of the class.
Murmurs which, as the EVI’s little picture-in-picture subtitles hinted at, were all in support of Auris Ping’s right-hand.
“That’s right… are we to assume that an apprentice of all people will be responsible for the evaluation of our performance?”
“I mean, she is an elf, that should count for something right-”
“Have some dignity! Just because she’s an elf, doesn’t mean she has any right to be dictating the fate of our academic progress!”
“That’s right! This is an insult to our titles! How dare they relegate the tutelage of a class to a mere pitiable apprentice! What do they take us for, the dregs of society?”
These hot-takes continued escalating further and further, until finally, and seemingly out of nowhere, several of those voices began dying down seemingly mid-sentence; something had distracted them from their little outbursts.
In fact, as the seconds ticked by, Thacea, Thalmin, and Ilunor turned towards each other knowingly, as if sensing that something was amiss.
That something was soon made clear to me by a sudden uptick of mana that rose from two, to three, to four hundred percent above background radiation.
At which point, several warnings suddenly slammed my HUD.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
CAUTION: Concentrated Heat-Energy Surge Detected!
CAUTION: Localized Temperature Surge Detected!
Those caution reticles quickly formed just behind the apprentice, hovering ominously over that void-filled doorway, right before a stream of concentrated flames surged forwards towards her.
However, instead of dodging, ducking, or leaping out of the way, she stood firm; her features not even shifting even a little.
As right before the flames made contact, so too did they suddenly stop, as that surge of mana radiation fluctuated wildly—
ALERT: VARIABLE FREQUENCY FLUCTUATION OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED 200 - 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—before suddenly disappearing.
The room was left stunned.
Any remaining conversations were halted mid way, with many of the more chatty students barely even registering what’d just happened.
So for those who lacked situational awareness, and were still very much looking around for the reason why the rest of the class had gone silent, there was a round two to these attacks that erupted as suddenly as the first.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 650% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
This was signaled at first by the cracking of rock and the quaking of the entire room, followed closely by four distinct sinkholes forming along the floor at the very front of the lecture hall. A gurgling, churning noise echoed ominously from deep within the newly-formed holes, like an ancient concrete mixer dialed up to eleven.
Eventually, it stopped.
And soon after, four humanoid earthen behemoths erupted from those sinkholes. Each of them easily towered over the apprentice, whilst each of their fists were at least a full Ilunor in size.
A tense confrontation followed, and a silence that could be shattered by a pin drop soon descended upon the formerly whisper-filled room.
Yet despite it all, the apprentice didn’t move a single muscle, and to top it all off her eyes were closed shut as if in deep thought.
Seconds passed.
Then finally, the four cobblestone golems made their move.
All four moved in sync, their first steps caused the whole hall to shudder, prompting me to instinctively flinch towards my sidearm as the events of the second day hit me harder than a sack of bricks.
The first golem was poised to strike her side—
ALERT: VARIABLE FREQUENCY FLUCTUATION OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED 300 - 650% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—but found itself crumbling before our eyes, as local mana radiation spiked and shifted erratically.
The second golem reached down with its fist, poised to grab the apprentice through the lectern—
ALERT: VARIABLE FREQUENCY FLUCTUATION OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED 250 - 700% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—but like the first, it found itself reduced to rubble, falling where it stood; as rock by rock, it collapsed under its own weight.
The third and fourth golems charged forward together, lunging down fast towards the lectern—
ALERT: VARIABLE FREQUENCY FLUCTUATION OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED 350 - 725% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—but like the first and second, they too found themselves victims to the great equalizer that was gravity, as whatever magical glue was holding them together just up and failed, reducing those humanoid forms into harmless piles of rock.
A few stray rocks did reach the lectern, but were effortlessly swatted away by an invisible barrier, leaving the apprentice and her immediate surroundings completely unharmed.
Silence once more descended on the entire class.
But just like the silence from before, that lull period wasn’t destined to last, as a loud, boisterous, and jolly series of bellowing laughs emerged from behind the void of that door.
I could tell, with immediate certainty, who that voice belonged to.
I didn’t even need the EVI’s tag system for this one.
ENTITY IFF CONFIRMED: A110 Professor Sorecar Latil Almont Pliska - NEXUS [CORDIAL]
“Spectacular work, young apprentice! Spectacular work indeed!” The man came marching through the door, walking up and towards the apprentice.
“Thank you, Professor-Armorer Pliska.” The apprentice responded softly, prompting the armorer to reply with a sharp and brisk bow of his own.
“You can reserve your thanks for after class, I have plenty more exercises where that came from, and each and every one is going to be tougher than the last!” The man proclaimed not-so-discreetly, eliciting a worried expression to form on the apprentice’s face, highlighting the seriousness of the otherwise lackadaisical tone of his voice. “Needless to say, I don’t think you’ll be thanking me much after I’m done with you! The Academy’s gotten a bit softer over the years, and I’m about to make up for lost time before they toss old-Sorecar Latil Almont Pliska back into the workshop!” He paused, before shifting his tone towards a more menacing one. “And that applies to your understudies as well, Apprentice.”
“Now!” The armorer quickly shifted his attention from the apprentice, and towards class, his gesticulations wild, as if making for the apprentice’s slower, more sluggish demeanor. More specifically, he maintained this sort of “Y” posture, with both arms high above his head as he spoke. “For those of you wondering exactly what just happened… well, perhaps it would be best for you to leave the class considering this is exactly the sort of thing we’ll both be expecting of you following the conclusion of this school year! And for those of you who openly doubt the qualifications of our dear apprentice here… just know that she was hand-picked by Professor Mal’tory himself for a reason.” The man paused, before bringing his arms back down to his sides, if only to emphasize his point, before resuming the posture from before. “And until I see a single one of you being personally selected by a black, red, blue, or white-robed professor… I don’t want to hear a single peep of doubt from you lot. At least as it pertains to the apprentice’s ability to teach these classes! And if you need an extra guarantee of such? Well… know that the Academy does not allow an apprentice to teach without supervision from an appointed Professor of the Magical Arts.” He paused, as if for dramatic effect, before pointing both hands down towards himself. “Which just so happens to be the only Professor otherwise free from the burdens of stringent schedules — yours truly!”
To Sorecar’s credit, the murmurs born of inflated egos, and the whispers of dissidence did not once dare to interrupt, or follow-up on the man’s proclamations.
If anything, that entire… display was enough to keep the critics at bay, and the ones on the fence to fully hop back on the side of respect.
At least, until one group decided to tempt fate, deploying a privacy screen.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 350% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
If only for that privacy screen to suffer the same effects as the rest of the spells casted throughout class thus far.
ALERT: VARIABLE FREQUENCY FLUCTUATION OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED 100 - 350% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
“Bold! Brash! And indeed, cheeky, if that word still holds true in this era’s vernacular!” Sorecar announced with a laugh that radiated deep from within his armor. “Unlike other classes that prohibit the casting of magic save for practice or demonstrative purposes, I fully allow it, nay, I say, I encourage it! You youths should be free to cast magic whenever and however you like!” The man paused soon after, and once again shifted gears towards a more severe timbre, yet never once losing that lackadaisical personality I knew him for. “But just remember, while you may freely practice these magical gifts you have and hold so highly, doing such in this class is to be considered a direct challenge by yours truly! This is the study of Light Magic and Mana-field Perception, after all! And thus, in the spirit of scholarly competition, I shall take every spell cast as a chance to prove what’s what!”
The man paused, before gesturing towards the apprentice. “Now, for those of you still quite confused with the definition of Light Magic as it pertains to the Nexian vernacular, I shall defer the right of tutelage back to that of our dear Apprentice. The floor is yours, my lady.”
A brief exchange of bows between the teaching duo was had, before the apprentice finally started, now with all doubts and concerns fully addressed not just by words alone, but through action as well.
“As all of you may have already discerned, the demonstration Professor Pliska had so graciously provided, was an attempt to illustrate the most visible effects of Light Magic — that being the detection and subsequent dispelling of active and pre-active spells. The subject of Light magic, thus refers to the study of the detection, dispelling, counterspelling, and disarming of all forms of other magics.”
“And by that definition, it is the single most combative field of magic there is.” Sorecar promptly chimed in with a nod towards the apprentice, almost like he was tag-teaming this opening statement with her; establishing a precedent for the dynamics of the class. “For in order to practice Light Magic, one must be in the presence of an active spell. And in order to truly practice Light Magic, one must be in the presence of active danger, as unlike most forms of magic, unevenness and intensity in casting is key to the successful destabilization of an offending spell.”
“So THAT’S what the fluctuations were.” I thought to myself outloud inside my helmet.
“Moreover—” Sorecar continued, raising his arms into the air once again as if to emphasize his points. “—to the seasoned and the wise, Light Magic as a field is known to be the single most versatile field in existence. For if implemented correctly, it has the capacity to bring all other forms of magic to its knees.”
“Versatility and adaptability are core elements of Light Magic, so while not capable of much harm by itself, it is capable of incredible feats of defense if used correctly.”
To say that I was pleasantly surprised would’ve been an understatement by this point. Because not only was Mal’tory completely out for the count, and not only was he replaced by two of my only cordial relations within the Academy thus far, but the class itself was refreshingly straightforward. There was no mincing around words like Vanavan’s class of lectures, there was also no overt signs of blatant propaganda and indoctrination like in Articord’s class. Instead, this whole class started out with a practical demo of all things, followed up essentially with a breakdown of exactly what we were studying.
“What you observed during the start of class, were just two out of a near-infinite set of examples demonstrating counterspell and dispelling measures, a rather dramatic one I might add but one that you may very well one day use.” The apprentice continued following yet another exchange of nods with Sorecar.
“And indeed, while they may have seemed trivial to the keen-eyed observer, the execution of their dispelling is anything but. Because despite what most misinformed minds may believe regarding counterspelling — dispelling isn’t simply a matter of overpowering an offending spell with a burst of mana, but instead, more akin to the unwinding of a knot, or the picking of a lock. You must act to untangle a spell, until the spell itself falls apart at the seams.” Sorecar continued, before once again swapping the baton with Larial through an exchange of nods.
“Which is exactly why Light Magic continues to be a field forever expanding in its domain.” The apprentice continued. “Because as every other field develops more and more convoluted forms of spells and artificing, so too does Light Magic have to adapt, improvise, and overcome these advanced and oftentimes eclectic means of casting.”
So an arms race… I thought to myself.
“It is, in essence, a pure magic field. Yet it is applied as if it were an applied magical field of study.” Sorecar surmised, prompting me to actually listen in with genuine intent, this marking the first moment I was truly engaged with a class with none of its politics.
“And as for the Mana-Field Perception class?” The apprentice continued with an inquisitive tone of voice. “It’s effectively an extension, or rather, a foundational element of Light Magic depending on how one wishes to view it. Because in order to become proficient in Light Magic, you have to first understand and hone your abilities in order to detect the nuances within mana-streams and mana-fields. It is only through the detection of disruptions and the accurate understanding of a spell being cast, that you are able to apply more advanced abjurations in an attempt to counter these spells. Sometimes even before they’re cast if you’re so inclined to.”
“Now, how many of you can genuinely say you noticed the shift in the room’s aura prior to the casting of that Firestream?” Sorecar asked the crowd, prompting almost every hand to be raised.
“Well that’s just a blatant lie now, isn’t it?” The man retorted bluntly. “I can tell by your reactions just before the Flamespear hit, you know. So please, honestly now, I’m giving you one more chance to answer.”
About three quarters of the class lowered their hands, leaving only the gang, Auris Ping and Qiv’s group, as well as a few other scattered students to maintain their raised hands.
“Alright, that’s about exactly the number I counted from behind the veil! Rightio then!” Sorecar proclaimed through what I could only imagine would’ve been a grin if it wasn’t for his armor. “This is exactly why mana-field perception is necessary. Because to most mages, it is a learned skill rather than an inherent trait. Which, of course, is by no means a demerit! But moreso, a wonderful little oddity in the grander tapestry that is the magical arts and pedagogue!”
The apprentice quickly followed that up with a series of talks once more summarizing the expectations of the class. Mana-field perception was, unsurprisingly, divided into practical and theoretical assessments. Which, at first, seemed to be a potential roadblock, until I realized one fundamental way this class could actually benefit my aims.
“EVI?” I spoke inwardly, as Larial started her lectures on mana-field perception.
“Yes, Cadet Booker?”
“Is there any chance you can maybe interpolate and extrapolate on the Apprentice’s points? As in, is it possible to… visualize magic, as opposed to just alerting me to bursts of it?”
“The mana-radiation visualization project, or MRVP, has been in development for some time, Cadet Booker. The research and development teams however, were unable to create a reliable model for field-use that wouldn’t have been a liability to operations.”
“So it wasn’t field-deployable because of the variance and accuracy issue.”
“Correct, Cadet Booker.”
“Alright, and you said all they needed was more data to create a better model for it, right?”
“Correct, Cadet Booker.”
“Could you… do that with this? Is that within your mission parameters to do so?”
“It is indeed one of the many ongoing projects taking up the bulk of my processing capacity, Cadet Booker. However, proper implementation of this will require additional hardware to be developed, tested, and then field-deployed for testing. The success rate of which is yet to be determined. I cannot guarantee this operation will yield the desired results inferred, Cadet Booker.”
“Alright, that’s good enough for me.” I acknowledged, before turning back to class with a renewed sense of invigoration.
The lecture continued, only stopping about midway as the apprentice realized she’d yet to elaborate on the whole Light Magic class side of things.
Which, it turns out, was more or less similar to Mana-field perception in its assessment criteria — that being a mix of practical and theory assessments. A combination of written exams and practical counterspelling would be expected in tests, midterms, and finals. This would mark my first true hurdle… but then again, perhaps I could balance out the rest of my grades against the practicals which was more or less an impossibility given my obvious human limitations…
“As with most of the classes in the first year, I will treat both periods as one. As both subjects are intertwined, we may see glimpses of both within the same period.” The apprentice continued, before shifting gears towards something else. “And on the topic of periods, since we’re nearing the conclusion of the first, with lunch quickly coming upon us, I believe it to be necessary to inform everyone now of what awaits at the end of this second period.” The apprentice spoke ominously, as she made the effort of meeting every one of the students’ gazes. “By day’s end, I intend for a pair of you to perform a practical demonstration of the fundamentals of light magic. So I expect everyone to pay close attention after lunch.”
A small pause punctuated the room yet again, before Sorecar, after several hours of silence, came to complete the apprentice’s thoughts; his faceplate squeaked to form a shape that just barely gave off the feeling of a smirk.
“Be prepared, and be ready, for your first real brush with magical dueling.”
“First being the operative word here, I must add.” The apprentice quickly clarified. “Within the bounds of demonstrative purposes.”
I could just about hear the band rounding out the corner outside the hall, and I could just about see a few students ready to pack up their things for lunch.
However, before the band could arrive, Thalmin unexpectedly stood up, raising his hand in the process.
“Yes, Prince Thalmin Havenbrock?” The apprentice acknowledged.
“I wish to volunteer as the issuer of this duel, and to designate the other party for this duel as well.”
The apprentice paused, considering this carefully, before nodding. “Granted, though I warn you Prince Havenbrock, this is an introductory demonstration, and will be treated as such. In any case, who would you wish to designate as the other party?”
“Lord Auris Ping.”
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(Author’s Note: And there we have it! Light Magic Theory and Manafield Perception classes are both now in session! This is probably the most fun and engaging class I've written yet, and this is a sentiment that Emma shares as well! I do hope you guys share the sentiment haha as I still think that action is something I still am quite lacking in, in terms of my abilities to properly write and convey it. I hope you guys enjoy! :D The next Two Chapters are already up on Patreon if you guys are interested in getting early access to future chapters!)
[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 80 and Chapter 81 of this story is already out on there!)]

Previously, on Hell’s Kitchen…
The final 11 participated in Chef Ramsay’s own personal version of Wheel of Fortune, in which they spun for their ingredients and built their dishes from the ground up. In the blue kitchen, egos clashed, but it was Thomas who took over the leadership role, much to the annoyance of Grace. In the red kitchen, with Shane out of the picture, the undermanned red team managed to work together on their creation. When Ramsay tasted the dishes, it was the red team who had the edge, and they were rewarded with a horseback ride through the Santa Monica mountains, along with a scenic picnic with Ramsay himself. Meanwhile, the blue team were punished by cleaning both kitchens and prepping grouper for tomorrow night’s service, and tensions quickly arose between Thomas and the rest of his team.
In service, both teams got off to a slow start on appetizers, but while the blue team managed to right the ship on entrees, the red team sank due to a shocking performance from Deidra on the fish station and Everett’s confusion on garnish. Ramsay declared the blue team as the clear winners, but named Michael the best of the worst and asked him for two nominees from the red team. At elimination, Michael decided to nominate…
Michael: “Deidra.”
And…
Michael: “Everett.”
But Deidra’s meltdown on her supposed best station was the last straw, and with that, her dream of becoming the head chef of Gordon Ramsay Steak in Vancouver, British Columbia came to an end…
https://reddit.com/link/1cpom17/video/3pzlz672iuzc1/player
And now, the continuation of Hell’s Kitchen…
The chefs went back upstairs to the dorms after Deidra’s elimination, with Ramsay’s instructions to the blue team still echoing in their minds. Melody said in her confessional that she liked being on the blue team, and definitely didn’t want to leave Lauren again after they had just been reunited. As the blue team returned to their side of the dorm, Lauren said they should try to work this out as quickly as possible, and the three of them went into the bedroom to discuss it privately. Lauren asked Melody and Thomas what their thoughts were, and Melody said she wanted to stay and continue to prove herself as a leader on the blue team, while Thomas said that he wanted to go back to the red team, as he felt that he could help them get back on track and show Ramsay his leadership qualities in the process. Melody asked Lauren what she was thinking, to which Lauren hesitated. In her confessional, Lauren said that this was a tough decision, as she had already jumped to a new team once, and she felt comfortable working alongside the blue team. Finally, Lauren said that if Thomas wanted to go to the red team, she would support him, to which Melody agreed. Back in the main dorm, Grace said in her confessional that she hoped Thomas would leave so he would stop imposing his will on every challenge and she could start to assert herself as a leader. Meanwhile, Travis was relaxing and trying to keep his mind off his nagging injury, saying in his confessional that it wasn’t going to get any easier, but there was no way he was giving up on his dream.
On the red team’s side of the dorm, the four remaining chefs were in a somber mood after yet another loss in service, and a frustrated Michael said they needed to get their shit together and start winning services again. Everett was still shaken up after his second consecutive nomination, and said in his confessional that he absolutely could not afford any fuck ups in the next service, or it might all be over. Faye tried to assure him though, saying that they would bounce back from this and no one else was going home from the red team from now on. Ramona was also feeling frustrated, as she had only won a single dinner service out of the first ten, and said she was sick and tired of always being on the losing team. Everett agreed that the losing had to stop, but also said Ramona needed to step up and prove why she deserved to have her immunity pass. Ramona defended herself though, saying she had a good service tonight aside from one mistake, while Everett had totally failed on garnish. Faye tried to calm them down, saying they were all frustrated right now and just needed to get some sleep.
And soon afterwards, both teams did finally turn in for the night.
Challenge
The next day, the chefs came downstairs and found Ramsay waiting for them, along with Jon and Christina, and Michael said in his confessional that this had to be a special occasion for the sous chefs to also be present. First, Ramsay pointed out that out of the 20 chefs they had started with, there were now just 10, which meant he was expecting each and every one of them to start standing out as individual leaders, while continuing to be strong team players. With that said though, he reminded the blue team of what he had said last night, and asked Thomas who was going back to the red team. Thomas announced that he had volunteered and gotten everyone else’s agreement, and Ramsay told him to step forward, put his red jacket back on, and rejoin his old team.
With both teams now balanced again at 5 chefs each, Ramsay was ready to announce the challenge, but he started by saying he needed the help of some special guests. As he said this, the door opened to reveal season 2 winner Heather, season 6 winner Dave, and season 12 winner Scott, who each held a large poster displaying dishes which Lauren described in her confessional as looking absolutely delicious, while Melody said in her confessional that it was amazing to be in the presence of so many former winners. Ramsay told the chefs that all of these dishes did not come from a michelin-starred restaurant, but from right here, designed by chefs in previous seasons. Ramsay continued, saying that to celebrate 20 years of Hell’s Kitchen, he was bringing back the classic red vs. blue menu challenge for tonight’s service. To that end, he instructed the chefs to go back to the dorms and take some time to build their menus. Then, they would prepare 2 appetizers and 3 entrees for him. As a further incentive, he revealed that the sous chefs and the three past winners would join him in tasting their dishes and giving feedback, so he urged them to put everything they had into their respective menus.
Back in the dorms, both teams quickly tried to get to the task of designing their menus. On the blue team’s side, Lauren took on the role as the leader, as she asked the team for suggestions for her to write down. Travis said in his confessional that this was a huge deal, as he knew none of them wanted to disappoint Ramsay in front of several former winners, and they had to put their best foot forward with this menu. Early on, Melody began suggesting several ideas, saying they should go for a classical French menu with items such as mussels, beef bourguignon and a creme brulee dessert. Grace became annoyed very quickly and said in her confessional that Melody was just one of those chicks who liked to hear herself talk. Lauren, though, approved of many of her suggestions, and put forward a venison tenderloin as her own contribution. Travis also suggested they should try a flatbread, while Carole suggested a bistro salad. Lauren asked Grace if she had any suggestions, but Grace stood up and grumbled that it looked like the blue team clearly had this under control and walked out. Travis said this was getting ridiculous, while Carole said they could make a lot more progress without Grace anyways.
On the red team’s side of the dorm, it didn’t take long for Thomas to take over the leadership role again, though Faye said it needed to be a group effort. Ramona suggested adding lamb chops, as she felt confident she could work with it given her five star signature dish. Thomas changed it to a rack of lamb with his own garnish, and after getting the approval of the others, added it to the menu, though Ramona was annoyed in her confessional, saying that Thomas wouldn’t let anyone’s ideas stand on their own. Michael wanted to add veal parmigiana, which Thomas said seemed a bit too basic for what Ramsay would be looking for. Michael said in his confessional that it felt like Thomas had just walked in and assumed command of the team, while Thomas said he was simply trying to ensure they had the highest quality food to present to Ramsay and the former winners. While the others tried to toss out ideas, Faye noticed that Everett wasn’t saying much, and noted that he seemed much more quiet than usual, but Everett replied that he simply didn’t feel as confident in putting his own ideas out there. However, he finally suggested adding red snapper, which Thomas said was a great idea, though again, he decided that his ideas could elevate the dish, but Everett said in his confessional that there was no point trying to change his mind. Faye managed to get ribeye added to the menu, while Michael had better luck with his suggestion of a creamy butternut squash risotto.
With both teams having worked out their menus, it was now time for them to return to their respective kitchens and prepare their five dishes for Ramsay’s approval. As the chefs were heading back downstairs, however, Travis suddenly stumbled and cried out in pain, and had to be supported by his teammates the rest of the way down. Travis grimaced as he said it felt like something just snapped, and his ankle felt as if it were on fire. Melody said in her confessional that this was not good at all, and went to find the medic. While Travis was being examined, the blue team entered their kitchen, and Ramsay noticed that they were down a man, asking where Travis was. Carole explained the situation and said he was being checked out by the medic. Ramsay nodded and said while it would obviously be difficult, as their concern was rightfully on Travis’ health, the blue team needed to keep it together and cook to the best of their abilities. However, it was undeniable that the wind had completely gone out of the blue team’s sails, as Lauren said in her confessional that Travis was the level-headed person that had always kept them somewhat even keeled, and made the transition to a new team much easier for her and Melody. Melody tried to encourage the team by saying Travis was coming back and they had to give him a great menu to work with, it was clear that each of them were now feeling extremely anxious about Travis’ future in Hell’s Kitchen.
Outside the kitchen, Travis was being tended to by the medic, who said he would need to go back to the hospital, as the injury had worsened. Travis was close to tears in his confessional, as he said he would do anything not to leave, and knew if he left now, he might never get this opportunity again. Ramsay himself came out of the kitchen to check on him, and Travis pleaded to be allowed to stay, saying he could fight through this, but Ramsay said his health was the priority and he needed immediate treatment, telling him to wait until after service to make a decision on whether or not he wanted to continue. Travis finally accepted Ramsay’s advice and agreed to go to the hospital, saying in his confessional that he was about to make the biggest decision of his life, and the worst part was that he felt completely useless in his current condition.
Back in the red kitchen, the only one who really seemed to feel confident in the menu was Thomas, as he said in his confessional that it was annoying to have his team doubt him after all of the times he had come through in the past, but he was confident that Ramsay would love the food. Ramona said in her confessional that Thomas seemed like a good chef, but his personality made it very difficult to work with him, and she was tired of always having someone push her ideas aside. Meanwhile, Michael was cooking his risotto, saying in his confessional that he had to make this his best risotto yet, and despite his earlier annoyance with Thomas, the two of them still talked back and forth, and Michael joked that he like Thomas better when he was in a good mood, to which Thomas replied that if they won service tonight, he’d be in an even better mood. Everett chimed in, saying the blue team was in for a good old fashioned ass whooping tonight, as he was done playing around, and Michael said that’s exactly what they needed to hear, as he said in his confessional that it was great to have the old Everett back after he had gone quiet during their menu creation. Faye said in her confessional that her ribeye was looking great, and she couldn’t wait to show it to Ramsay.
As the thirty second warning was called out by Ramsay, the chefs began plating their dishes, and brought them to the pass as time expired. With the cooking portion of the challenge complete, Ramsay had some troubling news for everyone, as he pointed out what each of the red team’s members had already noticed, which was that Travis was missing from the blue team. Ramsay said that Travis had been taken to the hospital, and would not be participating in tonight’s service. Faye was stunned, saying in her confessional that she would never have wished something like this on one of her fellow chefs, especially after the way she went out last season. Thomas asked if Travis was alright, which surprised Ramona, as she said she didn’t know he had a heart, and Ramsay answered that it didn’t look good, but there could be no definitive statements made yet. Thomas said in his confessional that they had all made sacrifices to be here, and just because he saw himself as the clear best chef on either team didn’t mean he wanted his competitors to go out due to injury. With all this said, though, Ramsay said the focus right now had to remain on the challenge, and now, it was time for the chefs to present their dishes to him, Jon, Christina, and the three former winners, starting with the blue team, who presented Melody’s mussels, Travis’ onion flatbread, Lauren’s venison tenderloin, Melody’s beef bourguignon, and Carole’s sole meuniére.
Ramsay noted that everything worked well on paper, to which Dave agreed, as he said it looked like the blue team had a plan and executed it, which Lauren admitted should be mostly credited to Melody, who had come up with the concept itself. Ramsay asked what Grace’s contribution was, to which she said that the blue team clearly didn’t value her ideas very much, to which Lauren shot back that she could have had something on the menu if she didn’t storm off. Ramsay ran a hand through his hair in exasperation and said the menu looked more unified than the team at the moment. He then said it was a good start, but the taste was the most important factor. The dishes did get good reviews overall, though Jon pointed out that the presentation on Carole’s sole could use some cleaning up, and Christina cautioned Lauren and Melody on their meat temps, as the venison and beef were slightly dry, but Scott had high praise for the presentation on Melody’s dishes, with Ramsay noting that had been one of her strengths from day one, even if consistently cooking the food to an edible temperature had taken a bit more time. Melody laughed nervously in her confessional, as she said this felt as awkward as having a parent-teacher conference, but Scott said the creativity was definitely there, which got a huge smile from her. Overall, everyone seemed to agree that the menu was tight and cohesive, with Ramsay saying that they just needed to execute where it counted, during service.
Next, it was time for the red team’s menu to be put under scrutiny, and they presented Michael’s butternut squash risotto, Thomas’ lobster ravioli, Thomas and Ramona’s mint crusted rack of lamb, Thomas and Everett’s red snapper with an orange-mango beurre blanc, and Faye’s ribeye. Ramsay said that it all looked delicious, which Christina agreed with, as she said she was proud of the red team and how far they had come. Michael said in his confessional that it was an honor to get such a high compliment from their sous chef, and he hoped she would still feel that way after tasting the food. Thomas was showing some rare nerves in his confessional, as he said his fingerprints were all over this menu, and he knew it was good, but if for whatever reason, Ramsay and the others didn’t like it, the blame would swiftly fall on him. When it came time for reviews, the biggest criticism came on the rack of lamb, as Heather noted that it seemed undercooked, and Ramsay schooled Ramona, saying this was not what he expected at this stage, especially since she had cooked lamb better than that on day one. Dave also pointed out that the presentation of the snapper dish needed a lot of work, as it didn’t look as appetizing as it could have. However, the ravioli was praised as being restaurant quality, while Christina loved the flavor in Faye’s ribeye, and Jon said Michael’s risotto was one of the best he’d ever tasted, to which Ramsay agreed. Ramsay concluded that the menu was up and down, but had potential, and told them to make the necessary adjustments.
Ramsay thanked the former winners for coming back to help him critique the menus, and said he looked forward to seeing them tonight in service, which got all of the chefs’ attention, as Lauren said getting to serve their own dishes to former champions was all the motivation they could ever have needed.
Pre-Service
Now that the menus had been tested out, Ramsay told the chefs it was time to start prepping the kitchens and familiarizing themselves with their menus, as he was expecting an amazing service from each team tonight.
In the blue kitchen, Melody said in her confessional that it was tough to concentrate when Travis’ absence was the clear elephant in the room, and she was just hoping he would be okay and they could win this service for him. Grace, on the other hand, said in her confessional that while she wasn't actively rooting for injuries, she was here for one reason and one reason only, to win, and she wasn’t about to get all weepy and sentimental over a competitor leaving. Carole seemed more nervous than usual, and Melody checked in with her, as she said that she felt like she had been struggling in the past few services, but Melody said they had to keep their heads in the game right now. Lauren said in her confessional that this was her time to step up as the leader of a demoralized team and show Ramsay that she had what it took to become his executive chef, and with their own food on the menu, there were absolutely no excuses for failure.
In the red kitchen, Thomas was annoyed that Ramona and Everett had made such basic mistakes in the menu tasting and made perfectly good dishes look subpar, but he was determined to lead the red team to victory tonight. Michael said they had to win this one with the blue team being a man down, and Ramona said in her confessional that she was going to have a perfect service tonight, no matter what station she was on, as it was the only way to avoid being nominated. Everett was also eager to avoid nomination, as he had gone up two nights in a row, and knew he couldn’t afford to fuck this up, not when it was a menu they had created themselves. Faye said in her confessional that Michael, Thomas and herself definitely seemed like the top contenders right now on the red team, and hoped that Ramona and Everett could put their inconsistencies aside and step it up. Ramona ended up asking Faye for advice, as she felt like Thomas had something against her, but Faye said it was only going to get more cutthroat from now on, as this was uncharted water even for her.
Ramsay gathered the chefs one more time and reminded them that it may be their menus, but it was still his standard, and he was not going to put up with any bullshit. With that said, he told them that they were all still here for a reason, and now it was time for them to show him, then, he turned to Marino and told him to open Hell’s Kitchen for Red vs. Blue Menu night.
Dinner Service
Diners streamed through the doors for the 11th Hell’s Kitchen service of season 24 for a very special event, as the red and blue teams’ menus would be competing against each other for the first time in ten years. As guests took their seats, including three very special guests - the former winners and their families - it wasn’t long before orders began to enter the kitchen, and it soon became clear which menu had the early edge in popularity, as all of the tickets were for the blue team.
With their menu getting all the early attention, it was up to Lauren on appetizers and Melody on fish to get the blue team off to a great start, while Grace was on garnish and Carole was on meat. With one chef on each section, Lauren said there was nowhere to hide, and it was time for each of them to put up or shut up. Lauren had no problems early on with Travis’ flatbread dish, as she was able to get her first table accepted, and said in her confessional that this one was for him. She was also able to communicate well with Melody on fish, who also had no issues serving the first table of mussels. Grace on garnish said she was here to show out and kick everyone’s ass, regardless of team, as she was still pissed off about being left without any dishes on the menu. Her first table of salads though, was overly watery, and Ramsay said he did not expect that from her when she had made better salads than that weeks ago. Grace was able to bounce back though, and appetizers continued to be smooth sailing for the blue team, although Lauren said in her confessional that having the more popular menu also meant a greater workload, but she was confident that she and Melody could handle this. Sure enough, with their excellent communication and teamwork, appetizers were flying out of the kitchen at a steady pace, and a very important guest, season 2 winner Heather, was seen enjoying her meal. Melody said in her confessional that she was very impressed with Lauren’s leadership, as she really seemed to have things under control on apps. Soon, the blue team was ready to get started on entrees.
In the red kitchen, Faye was on appetizers, Ramona was on fish, Thomas was on garnish, and Everett was with Michael on meat. Unfortunately, their menu was not turning out to be as popular as they had hoped, as they had to wait for several minutes after the blue team to get their first ticket, and Thomas said in his confessional that this was just getting embarrassing. Finally though, orders did begin to stream into the red kitchen, and early on, Faye and Ramona communicated well between their sections, as Faye noted in her confessional that Ramona was really speaking up and sounding confident for the first time, which she was proud of, and they were able to successfully deliver their first table of risotto and lobster ravioli. Ramona said in her confessional that nothing was going to stop her tonight, as she had to prove why she belonged in the top 9. Both did have some stumbles though, as Ramona didn’t make enough ravioli for a table, and had to be asked by Ramsay if she knew how to count, while Faye sent up a bland risotto, and was schooled by Ramsay, as this was a Hell’s Kitchen staple. Faye kicked herself in her confessional, saying these little mistakes added up in Ramsay’s mind, and she couldn’t let them affect her. Faye and Ramona were able to recover though, and it wasn’t long before food once again began to leave the kitchen to very satisfied diners, including season 12 winner Scott. With both kitchens still neck and neck, the red team was now ready to get started on entrees,
Back in the blue kitchen, the focus shifted the Carole on meat to keep the blue team’s momentum going, Carole was nervous in her confessional as these were new menu items, but knew she needed to deliver a strong performance to keep herself from falling behind. Unfortunately, the issues would begin as early as the first table, as Grace called out inconsistent times from garnish which threw off both Melody and Carole, and Ramsay demanded to know when exactly the food was going to start coming out. Once they finally brought their dishes to the pass, Carole’s beef was rejected for being chewy and inedible, and Grace said in her confessional that Carole seriously needed to either get a grip or get the hell out of here. While Carole was able to recover and the first table eventually went out, progress continued to be sluggish as Grace was not talking to her team and rushed garnishes to the pass, which led to Melody bringing up undercooked sole, and she expressed frustration in her confessional with Grace not being a team player. With the kitchen still moving slowly, Ramsay called out for the venison and got no response from Carole, much to his frustration. Melody was able to calm Carole down temporarily and the two of them managed to finally get their sole and venison to the pass. Ramsay now called out for the garnish, saying the ticket was dying, only to receive soggy, burnt vegetables from Grace, and he demanded to know if that was really her best. Lauren said in her confessional that Grace was absolutely sinking the service right now, and decided to try to help her out on garnish, but Grace said she had things under control, saying in her confessional that Lauren just needed to leave her alone, but Lauren said Grace clearly needed the help, and with the kitchen still stalled, Ramsay had enough and took everyone into the pantry, asking them what the fuck they were doing. Carole explained that Grace wasn’t talking to anyone, while Grace said that Carole was supposed to be driving the tickets from meat, and she went silent on them. Ramsay was pissed and told them to get it figured out, and quickly, because this was absolutely unacceptable.
While the blue team struggled through entrees, the red team hoped that Everett and Michael would propel them to victory from the meat station. Everett said in his confessional that this was redemption night, and he needed to have his best service yet to earn back Ramsay’s respect. On the first table, though, both Everett and Michael had issues as Michael served rare ribeye, while Everett’s lamb was undercooked and poorly sliced. Thomas said in his confessional that the red team could not afford to be having these struggles at this point, and the meat stations needed to get their shit together immediately. Fortunately, both Michael and Everett were able to recover and, along with Ramona, get their first table out. Ramona did serve raw snapper, which got her schooled by Ramsay, but she was able to bounce back quickly. From then on, entrees began to flow out into the dining room, with Ramona continuing to be more vocal from fish, while Thomas kept everyone on schedule from garnish. With the orders for the red team still lagging behind those from the blue team, Ramsay became annoyed with Everett dragging on his lamb, but with Michael’s help, they were able to avoid it becoming a larger issue, and Everett was able to serve beautifully cooked lamb, with Ramsay saying he wanted it to be like that every single time. Everett said in his confessional that he had no intentions of stopping, and a fire had definitely been lit under him tonight. With Michael, Everett, Thomas and Ramona all working in sync with each other, the red team was able to push out entrees and complete a very solid service, with several guests seen enjoying their meal, including Scott
While the red team started to pull ahead on entrees, the blue team were in the pantry trying to sort out their issues. Melody told Grace and Carole that they needed to be more vocal, and that Grace needed to accept Lauren’s help. Lauren agreed and said they weren’t cooking like a team right now. With Carole promising to try to do better, and Grace throwing her hands up and saying she would do whatever would help the team win, the blue team finally emerged from the pantry and resumed working on entrees. With Lauren helping out on garnish, communication finally improved, but Grace still managed to serve bland, watery puree, while Carole had problems getting the temperature right on her venison, as it was overcooked on the first attempt, and “still moving” on the second attempt, as she said in her confessional that this service had been an absolute nightmare for her, and she had a feeling she could be going home tonight. However, they were finally able to serve acceptable dishes along with Melody’s sole, and the blue team eventually managed to serve the rest of their entrees and complete service behind the red team, with Heather and Dave seen enjoying their food in the dining room, but Ramsay said that was more painful that a fucking root canal.
Post-Mortem
Ramsay had the teams line up and said tonight was all about these chefs, the supposed best half of the field, proving that they could build and serve their own menus, and that was why, after the strong start both teams had on appetizers, he was deeply disappointed in the fall from grace, which he pointed out was a very appropriate choice of words, from the blue team, as he still wanted to know where the fuck the communication was on entrees, ans wondered if Travis had really been the one holding them together all this time. With that said, there was one team who did justice to their own menu, and that was the red team, who were declared the winners of Red vs. Blue Menu Night. Ramsay then told the blue team to go back to the dorms and think very hard about the two people they wanted to nominate for elimination after that embarrassing performance. With that, he told them to piss off.
Back in the dorms, the decision seemed simple for the blue team at first, with Lauren saying that Grace was a disaster on garnish, and refused to talk to anyone. Carole agreed and said it was clear she was only looking out for herself at the team’s expense. Grace shot back that she had to look out for herself, as it was obvious that everyone else here wanted her gone. Melody told Grace to stop putting words in their mouths, as she had been nothing but supportive, but Grace said she was voting for Melody due to being fake and overly inconsistent. Lauren asked if everyone else agreed to nominating Grace, to which they did, and Grace angrily said in her confessional that they could each go fuck themselves for all she cared. For the second nominee, Lauren and Melody agreed that Carole’s performance in service was the weakest, as she had struggled to get meat temperatures right. Carole tried to defend herself by saying she had been more consistent throughout the season than Melody, and simply based on the process of elimination, would have to nominate Melody due to her up and down performances. Melody was annoyed with this, as she said she had been doing her best, and despite her terrible last service with the red team, felt herself getting stronger and more confident with each passing day.
On the red team’s side of the dorm, Michael was pumped up to finally be back on the winning team in service, which he celebrated with Faye, while Everett was relieved that even though he didn’t have a perfect service, he delivered when it counted and helped his team win. Thomas said in his confessional that he did nothing but win, and after turning around both the blue team and red team, he was sure Ramsay was taking notice of his leadership abilities. Ramona went over to chat with Everett, with the two of them being excited to still be here, with Ramona saying she and Everett were definitely the most vulnerable ones here, and they needed to stick together, especially since Thomas would push for them to go out as soon as they lost. Everett said in his confessional that Ramona was a feisty chef, which he admired, though he was worried about the fact that she still had her immunity pass, and if it came down to the two of them, she had a get out of jail free card, while he would be screwed. Even so, he agreed that they should watch each other’s backs.
Elimination Ceremony
The four person blue team entered the dining room, and as they stood before Ramsay, it was clear that the nerves of the competition were starting to get to them. Ramsay said they were down to the best 10, and this had been their own menu, and the more popular one, no less. There should have been no excuses for such a disastrous service. He did concede, though, the fact that the stress of losing their teammate before service may have played a role in throwing them off their game, and that was why he wanted to let Travis tell them how he was doing. With that, the door opened, and Travis entered the dining room, supporting himself with crutches, which drew some shocked silent reactions from his teammates. Ramsay asked Travis what he had been told at the hospital, to which Travis replied that his ankle was in much worse shape now, and it would take an extended period of time to heal. Ramsay sighed, as he told Travis that they both knew what this meant, and Travis nodded, as he appeared to be fighting back tears, and said he would not be staying in Hell’s Kitchen.
Melancholy music
Ramsay: “I don’t say this lightly, young man, and I sincerely mean it: you could have won this competition. I’m very sorry you won’t be able to go on. And I wish you all the best with your recovery and future in the industry.”
Travis: “Thank you for everything, chef, I really can’t thank you enough for this. It’s been the experience of a lifetime.”
Ramsay: “Thank you, Travis. Keep the jacket, you earned it, and keep your eyes and ears open, because the next voice on the phone could be mine. Please, take care, and get well soon.”
With that, Ramsay and Travis shook hands, and Travis exchanged a goodbye with his team as Ramsay opened the door for him.
Travis’ comment
“It’s so fucking hard to walk away from a competition that you know you could have won, for reasons completely out of your control. I pushed my body and mind to the limit in Hell’s Kitchen, and for whatever reason, my body just couldn’t handle it. I’d give anything to go back and change that one step, but it’s over now. I guess all I can do is try to ignore the what if’s and remember all the good that came from this…but dammit man, it’s a big “what if?” and it hurts. I can’t pretend that it doesn’t.”

With Travis’ tragic withdrawal, Ramsay announced that the man who just walked out of those doors was far from the weakest chef here, and that was why Ramsay announced that he was not done, and still needed to hear from the blue team.
Dramatic music
Ramsay asked Lauren for the blue team’s first nominee and why. Lauren announced that the team had unanimously voted for Grace, due to her attitude constantly bringing the team down and poor performance on garnish. Ramsay asked for the second nominee and why. Lauren hesitated, and announced that…the blue team had not been able to reach a consensus on the second nominee, as they were split between Carole and Melody. Ramsay was pissed, as he said even in the dorms, the blue team still couldn’t fucking communicate as a team. Finally though, he told Grace, Carole and Melody to all step forward, and started by asking Melody why she should stay in Hell’s Kitchen.
Melody: I’ve had some low points, chef, I fully admit that, but ever since I joined the blue team, I feel like I’ve just been getting stronger. I have confidence now that I didn’t have when I first got here. I know I’m a good chef, and I try my best to help the team whenever and however I can.”
Ramsay paused for a moment to consider her words, then said that he agreed completely, and sent her back in line, much to her relief as she shared a quick hug with Lauren. Ramsay then moved to Carole, asking her to explain why she was getting worse and less visible the longer the competition went on.
Carole: “Chef, I do feel like I get pushed around sometimes by my team-”
Ramsay: “Well push back then! For god’s sake, young lady. You have to act like you want this!”
Carole: “I do want this, chef! I want to be the head chef of Gordon Ramsay Steak, I know I have the experience and the talent to run it, I just need to start showing you.”
Ramsay said she needed to start showing him weeks ago, and he was running out of patience. Finally, he moved on to Grace, asking her really, truly, why she should stay in Hell’s Kitchen when her team was desperate to get rid of her?
Grace: “Well chef, I think the reason they’re so desperate is because they know I’m strong, I have leadership qualities, and they want to get rid of the competition. I think it’s as simple as that.”
Ramsay said he was getting tired of all the bullshit in the blue team, and demanded to know when she was going to start talking to her teammates. Grace responded that if they gave her a chance to lead, he would see just how talented she was.
Ramsay sighed in frustration, as he said that both of them deserved to go home on the back of tonight’s performance, but with that said…
Ramsay: “My decision is…”

Ramsay: “Carole.”
Elimination music
Ramsay: “You’ve gone invisible, it’s like the competition is too big for you. But…I know you can cook, that’s why I’m giving you another chance. I need to start seeing some leadership, I need to hear your voice. Get back in line.”
Dramatic music
As Carole gratefully returned to the blue team, Ramsay turned to Grace.
Ramsay: “Step forward, young lady, and listen very carefully to me…This. Is. It. No more bullshit, show me that you can work with your team, or get out of here. Back in line.”
Ramsay confirmed that no one else was going home tonight, as he said both Carole and Grace were very lucky that Travis had been unable to continue, and told them to take advantage of this second chance and show him something in the next service. With that, he told everyone to get back to the dorms and get some sleep.
As the chefs exited, several of them had confessionals. Lauren said it sucked that they had lost Travis instead of Grace, as their team was now much worse off. Grace said that she was still here and all these bitches better watch out, because she was going to outlast them one by one. Thomas said that the blue team was a clusterfuck as long as Grace was there, and while he felt sorry for Lauren, it shouldn’t be too difficult for the red team to rack up some wins. Faye said it was devastating to see Travis go out the way he did, and it just went to show how quickly it could all end.
Placement
https://preview.redd.it/vavpr72whuzc1.png?width=2511&format=png&auto=webp&s=4df58b9489a9874a7275e748d1589aae9e688cd3

1. Leonard Cohen - Songs of Leonard Cohen (1968) A [3 listens B/A-/A] not really a "Rock" album, but it's one of those albums that constantly caught my eye, plus 60s albums are getting hard to come by. His writing is otherworldly. Fully lived experiences and age with every character in these songs. I would hate to live in his mind, as it seems so damn complex and very overanalytical on every single human interaction. If Bob Dylan is a storyteller, he is a painter; the level of complexity in all of these characters and people are so detailed. Similar to Blood on the Tracks, a lot of the songs are about romance and past relationships, however unlike that album, it isn't as heartbroken and shows a lot of value towards those experiences; even if they're all difficult to move past. Great album and that is enhanced by close, focused deep dives into these lyrics.
2. Yes: i. The Yes Album (1971) A++ [6 listens A+/A++/A+/A+/A++/A++] Close to the Edge is still one of the most Epic-like songs in Rock history, so I was thinking it was going to be pretty hard to top that, and it turns out, they already did lol. CttE is a great song, but the rest of the album is merely ok, whereas Venture is the only weak song. Everything else is MAGNIFICENT!! Move over harmonica, the organ is officially the most underrated instrument now. EVERY climax of each song is immaculate, the guitar and keyboards are always on point, the singing has never been better! Nothing could ever match what CttE is, but they started off with making a more consistent album throughout instead of only in one song. All timer. ii. Fragile (1971) A- [3 listens A-/A-/A-] first time I actually felt like I got Rick Roll'd by an album, as I didn't realize that the song from that meme was from Roundabout lol. The song is great and is even better the longer it develops. However, it does fall apart as the album gets deeper, particularly in the second side. I read on the recording of this album and saw that the individual members worked on separate tracks as they were being rushed and it really shows, as there are very understated and disconnected from everything else next to them. It becomes very noticeable when a song like Roundabout literally kicks off the tracklist and you have to follow it. Now, I can see the path on their way to how CttE is formatted, as it's just 3 "Roundabouts" in a row. Good listen, but very unbalanced.
3. ZZ Top - Tres Hombres (1973) A++ [6 listens B/B++/A-/A+/A+/A++] I listened to Eliminator and thought it was kinda meh and someone suggested to listen to this, as this is their "signature sound". Thank God I did, because this is probably my favorite Blues Rock album I've heard so far. The choruses are solid and aren't straying too far from the standard Blues layout, but it's the drumming, guitar licks and the solos that won me. That drum lick on the opening of La Grange is so damn sweet. Hell Raiser's solo is so amazing. The guitar riff on Master of Sparks is so catchy. The guitar & bass interplay on Shiek and Precious and Grace are amazing. Honestly, even though the song structures aren't that unique, they did the absolute best with what they had. But if I'm being honest, the 3 additional live tracks at the end put it over the edge for me. The energy is palpable.
4. Joni Mitchell: i. Court and Spark (1974) A [3 listens A/A/A] been awhile since I listened to Joni Mitchell's Blue, but I still catch myself randomly humming verses from My Old Man and Carey, so she's managed to find a place to hide out in the corners of my brain. It's a more jovial Mitchell and a forward looking project, instead of her sulking in her life experiences. A "recollection" of memories with her stories, with how scattered the writing flows. My favorite songs are Help Me, Free Man in Paris, Just Like This Train, Raised On Robbery. Nice album, she's starting to flirt with Jazz, but not as risky as what would come after. Also, Twisted needs to be cut from this album tho; such an odd fit. ii. The Hissing of Summer Lawns (1975) A [3 listens A/A+/A] she's completely single and ready to mingle now with this one; in terms of the music. Playing off the cover art, its sound likes she's taking a stroll through the park, meeting strangers with different instruments and styles, stopping to sit in the grass or dance around with someone and moving on to the next person. This feels more unplanned compared to the others, which helps it create a separate identity from the rest of her work. I do think the songs struggle in the first half, but the second side are much stronger. Shades of Scarlett, Harry's House, The Boho Dance and the title track are my favorites. Also, the music and the combination of instruments on display is way more enthralling than the lyrics and her signature storytelling. It's very good, but there's definitely more complete albums she's made. iii. Hejira (1976) A+ [3 listens B/B++/A+/A+] For some reason, early on this is the album that hit the wall for me, as I i kinda got tired of her not really changing her vocal cadence that much in the first 2 listens. After getting pass that, it's hard not to respect her. I still don't think this album does much too advance her music on a stylistic level, as the previous two have, but fuck, she's so damn great at writing. Furry Sings the Blues, Refuge of the Road, A Strange Boy... just such amazing storytelling in those alone. Also, Song for Sharon is possibly my favorite Joni Mitchell song now; just perfection. Had that slow, casual feel reminiscent of Blue that is rare to come across. I honestly hate albums like this, "growers", as even now, I feel like if I listen to this a few more times, I'd come to admire it more.
5. Iggy Pop: i. The Idiot (1977) A+ [5 listens A-/A/A/A+/A+] I've gone through all of the Stooges albums and now it's time for Iggy Pop's solo material. Both of these were made along side Bowie's Berlin Trilogy and as the producer, his fingerprints are all over it. The desolate guitars ringing, while a very uncommonly low energy Iggy sings over it all. If the first half of Low could be called a trial run for New Wave music, then this album is the trial run for Post Punk. Also, the album art perfectly matches the tone of the album: a blue/black picture in the cold, mysterious darkness of night... with a clueless Iggy just along for the ride lol. This has his signature deadpan style, but none of the Garage Rock energy he's knows for, which imo makes this effort a more respectable leap then he may think. I read he really doesn't "claim" this album, as he sees it as more for a Bowie project, but this album is definitely made better with his inclusion. Yes, the music is the biggest part, but idk if you could just replace Bowie on any of these songs and it'd be instantly better. ii. Lust of Life (1977) B [3 listens B-/B+/B] Wow, the album where he put his "foot down" and went in on making an album that HE wanted, is of course the one I left unimpressed by. Not that it's bad, but it's just a Stooges album with, again, not of that high octane energy. Success and The Passenger are phenomenal songs, but everything else is just your by "the numbers" Rock n Roll standards with an updated Garage spirit than anything as inventive at The Idiot.
6. Warren Zevon - Excitable Boy (1978) B+ [2 listens B+/B+] Genuinely can't remember how he got on my list or even remember if anyone even recommended him. But this is considered his "best album" and plus, outside of Elton John, I haven't really explored many Rock that centers around the Piano. It's a fun album, albeit very crude and satirical at times, it managed to balance it out well. Outside the double take lyrics, none of these songs are too special. I like the nice piano jingle of Werewolves of London and the title track is an interesting song. However, the last few songs tanked it. Okay listen; not everybody is an "album artist", as the singles were the best parts.
7. Wire: i. Chairs Missing (1978) A [4 listens B++/A/A/A] Wire! Pink Flag has managed to become an all time favorite since discovering it and honestly wasn't aware that they actually had other albums just as critically praised as it. As a 2nd album, it comes off very odd, but with hindsight of what follows it, it's easy to see that it's just stuck between two worlds: the world of "Proto"-Post Punk and the extended end of the "concept" of Post Punk. None of their music really feels like "Post Punk" as they never seem to conform to any genre sound. Where Pink Flag feels like a group of teens making Punk with a solid background in music, they weren't out to be "experimental" with the music. Here the Hardcore edge is removed, which allows their artistry to become more visible, but they're moving away from this subversion. Mercy, Practice Makes Perfect, I Am the Fly, Marooned, Outdoor Minor are the good ones. It's still very ahead of its time and still ahead of the curb. ii. 154 (1979) A++ [6 listens A-/A+/A++/A++/A++/A++] sometimes you have to let the thing you want go in order to fully accept the possibility that something can be better. I still desire a Pink Flag 2, but I'll be a fool to dismiss how amazing this is. The extremely eeriely brooding and atmospheric environment is pushing the limits of what Post Punk should even be. A song like Other Window creepy as fuck, due to Graham Lewis' increased vocal role, adding SO much to this tone. Touching Display is how every droning guitar should be used; deep, whole notes and if it was made in the 90s, it'll be my favorite Post Rock song outside of Slint. This is Avant-Post Punk essentially; carving out a deep future path for Gothic Rock to eventually go down. Also, SYNCOPATED RHYTHMS!! There are many bands to do it (often Pop bands), but none do it better with a heavy and Punk sound as they do. Also, compared to Pink Flag, there's SO little fat on here; so yes, it's definitely their best album. The ONLY flaw is the ending sequencing of it... Map should've been the closer and it would be PERFECT. / Colin Newman - A-Z (1980) A [4 listens B++/B/A+/A] Colin Newman's solo project and the "unofficial 4th Wire album" as many of the songs were written while the band was together. And it is obvious the time frame when, as it's more of a 154 Part 2 with how very unattached it is to being "Post Punk". However, similar to Chairs Missing, it's an unfocused album with so many great ideas. This is probably where I'd say it's too experimental, as some of these songs are just too intentionally eccentric. To be frank, I think he's trying too hard to be "weird" to match that energy of 154, but the weirdness was from the tone and how desolate the energy was. Whereas here, the energy is completely up and down and the oddness is in the erratic style than it's ambiance. This one probably has more moments and songs that I love more, but this makes Chairs Missing appear more concise lol. Still very good if you're a Wire fan, even if you can still sense that it's not really a true "Wire" project.
8. Siouxsie and the Banshees: i. Kaleidoscope (1980) B+ [3 listens A/A-/B+] with a different lineup this time around, interested to see how they will develop their sound going into the 80s. And it's kinda as I expected: more diverse instruments, more grooves with in the basslines and leaning on the singing to lead the direction. As the songs go on, they (specifically Siouxsie Sioux) lose their energy. Side 2 has all the best songs, while the first is lacking. Solid listen, but feels they overdid it when they should've kept it simple like on Scream. I respect the attempt and was probably a needed change due to how fast Post Punk was developing, but it could've been done more succinctly. ii. Juju (1981) A+ [2 listens A/A+] Well shit, it's like they already knew my criticisms lol. Finally dynamic songs! Partially why Bauhaus has become my favorite Post Punk/Gothic band, is that the song's layout and rhythms changes throughout a single song and doesn't remain static. Sioux is an all timer in presence, but not so much with singing imo, so she's used so much better as she's highlighted spottingly, particularly in crescendoing over the music. Also, this is heavy as hell; Monitor sounds like a SOAD track... Damn! Honestly, I thought this was going to be a repeat of Kaleidoscope, but man did they knock it out of the park. Fine tuned what they did and allowed themselves to amplify it without losing their identity completely.
9. Bathory: i. Self-Titled (1984) B++ [3 listens B++/B++/B++] the first "official" Black Metal album or EP given its length. Not only are the song structures primitive, but the mixing is as well. I think it works for what it is; something completely new. Even they didn't know what they were doing and it feels that way. The bassline is what seals the deal, as it keeps things very grounded. And the guitar is... well, it lays down the foundation of what Black Metal will become; for better or for worse. The production is really holding this back; it's very poorly mixed. The frayed sound of the guitars looses a lot of edge, which admittedly does make it an easier listen, but so much of its power is lost. Reaper, Raise the Dead, Necromancy, guitar solo on Sacrifice are the highlights. ii. Under the Sign of the Black Mark (1987) A+ [4 listens A+/A/A+/A+] I really love this album. Woman of Dark Desires, Massacre, 13 Candles, Enter the Eternal Fire, with that AWESOME guitar solo in the middle! This is the perfect step up, sound quality included. More songs with distinct identities, loved the pacing throughout and a very "easy" listen (i.e. no overly chaotic guitar solos). That's usually my main critique with most Extreme Metal albums is that songs tend to run into one another and there's very little differences between them all. The riffs are different, the tempo is different and the drumming is changed up on every song. Great album! But similar to all of their other stuff, I just wish it was longer. iii. Blood Fire Death (1988) A [3 listens A/A+/A] Another great album, but it's not a consistent as UtSotBM. I enjoyed the acoustic sections (that would later influence viking metal) which raises it up some points. It was an unexpected skill I didn't think they were capable of. However, this album is one that's trying to be two things: it does one really well and just "sorta" touches on the other one. It would've been great to see a better balance between these terrific Black Metal sections and these Viking Metal acoustic ones, giving equal time to each. I hope they would find a better balance in a future album, but I'm only listening to these 3. All were good listens and held up much better for pioneers of a genre.
10. The Pogues - Rum, Sodomy & the Lash (1985) A [4 listens A+/A/A/A] a long awaited listen after seeing so much about this. It doesn't really come off as "Punk" but as legit, Irish/Celtic shanties. The novelty wears off after a few listens though. It's very genuine in its execution and doesn't come off as gimmicky at all. It's very 2 note: uptempo or slow wailing songs. Waltzing Matilda and I'm a Man You Don't Meet Everyday are by far the best songs here, with Dirty Old Town, Wild Cats and Sally MacLennane in that 2nd tier below. Really good and takes itself very serious.
11. Butthole Surfers - Locust Abortion Technician (1987) C+ [2 listens B-/C+] speaking of talking itself seriously.... here's the complete opposite. It's very VERY hard to actually get into this as it's just absurdist for absurdism sake as most of it is just so empty. There are a few sparks of musical inspirations that show they are capable of something more serious, but they seem to enjoy being nonsensical over making compelling music. It doesn't necessarily have to be serious satire or just cut and dry (I love Ween), but there has to be a point to this madness or else it just comes off as simply... madness.
12. Queensryche - Operation: Mindcrime (1988) A+ [2 listens A/A+] Sounds like a "Heavy" Hair Metal band. The story is simply "okay" and that's being nice, as this was way over hyped, that I expected something like a To Pimp a Butterfly of themes and stories intersecting. This is like a Hair Metal version of the Wall. It feels more like a musical than a concept album with a linear story, which loses stream after Breaking the Silence. It is very melodramatic especially in the second half, but it was the 80s... However, it has Spreading the Disease so all of that is a wash; we don't got guys hitting high notes like that anymore, which you gotta admit Hair Metal nailed that with perfection. A++ music but A concept, so right in the middle.
13. Coroner: i. No More Color (1989) A- [3 listens A+/A/A-] first non big 4 Thrash. I don't know how popular they were beyond Europe, but they were pioneers in the Technical Thrash Metal (sometimes called Prog Thrash). The main issue is that all the songs run into one another, without any significant parts to either of them. They set their songs around the guitar solos (which can be unmemorable at best and very messy at worse), which furthers mushes everything together. This is why I tend to value pacing in music, especially in Heavy Metal. There's plenty of good riffs to be found, but you have to sludge your way to find them. ii. Mental Vortex (1991) A+ [2 listens A+/A+] great follow-up. The guitar is still leading every song, but it's not fully taking control over the identity of every one. The drumming and the shifts in the music (similar to Metallica's 80s work) better distinguishes each track, making every phrase more dynamic. It's pretty good, but admittedly the She's So Heavy cover puts it just over to be an A+; better than the original because its fully realized metal and ends 30 seconds sooner :p
14. Swervedriver - Mezcal Head (1993) A++ [4 listens A++/A++/A++/A++] a Grunge album in Shoegaze clothing. The music is very unassuming with its generic 90s vocals, but that's how that Shoegaze sound sneaks up on you. The reverb on every guitar note constantly adds texture to every moment, almost drowning you with its heaviness. And THEN, that's when the vocals start to shine; like warm light of a log cabin in the middle of a heavy, blinding blizzard. Also, Duress is up there along side Venus in Furs as those all timers I know I'll forever be listening to for decades to come. Phenomenal album, highly recommend! ii. Raise (1991) A- [2 listens A/A-] literally decided to listen to this days before finishing up as I didn't know this album was also a landmark in Shoegaze (maybe moreso than MH). This is the album shows that less discussed bridge from Noise Rock to Shoegaze, as so many places only consider Shoegaze as a direct evolution of Dream Pop. This is a true Alternate Rock sound, with heavy guitar distortion; but not to the extent to what Shoegaze is really known as. This is closer to Dinosaur Jr or Sonic Youth than MBV or Slowdive. That aside, its pretty good for a debut. The melodies aren't as great as MH, but a few songs like Son of Mustang Ford, Sandblasted and Sunset were great foundation points of what would follow. Wouldn't say it's a must listen, but it's a good entry.
15. Kyruss - Welcome to Sky Valley (1994) A [3 listens A-/A/A] Josh Homme from his original band and the "birth" of the Desert Rock genre. Solid album, I like the atmosphere it creates as a laid back, background album. Complete opposite of QQTSA in where it's like wandering down a barren "desert", instead of a isolated highway listening to a radio station. It works. Nothing here will jump out at you, but it's very clear that that's not the intent with it. Idk if I'd say it's a must listen, as I can see it being called uneventful. But it's a good listen if you want some background music with some grit to it.
16. Swans - Soundtracks for the Blind (1996) A+ [2 listens A+/A+] the last Swans I'm going to listen to as I didn't care much for To Be Kind, so I imagine I'm not gonna like any of their other stuff. This is in a different direction, where it doesn't even seem to be "music" at times. This makes GY!BE appear accessible in comparison. This is like flicking through the channels on a TV in this weird, strange motel in the middle of nowhere. A lot of dull, drawn out moments that actually work this time around, as it helps paint a better scene of this eldritch-like world it's in. If it had more of those spontaneous, random fully formed tracks, I'll love it more, however their sporadic appearances make them more special when they're coming out of nowhere. This is rare project where I feel that more listens would lower my love for it, as that unpredictability of it is its greatest strength.
17. Duster - Stratosphere (1998) A [3 listens A/A/A] VERY lofi with its low quality mixing. It's the pacing of Shoegaze without the distortion and the blasé attitude of Slacker Rock without the traditional song structure, to a point where it's closest to Post Rock but still has that character of your favorite 90s Indie Rock band (I'm also lost as well). RYM calls it Slowcore, which I find kinda cool. This is like if depression was an album; all the ebbs and flows of your mood slowly dropping, staying at a low point, that occasional optimism and right back into that shallow pit of somber, where you managed to make a somewhat cozy cottage due to you being there for so many times. Slowest part of a Built to Spill album, with a budget of $18 for production, bring a singer with possible self-esteem issues and tell them to make a 50 min lullaby to get a shoegaze-loving kid to sleep. I'm all out of metaphors.
18. Gustavo Cerati - Bocanada (1999) A+ [3 listens A+/A+/A+] another album I can't quite remember how it got on my list, but Trip Hop is another one of those genres that outside of Massive Attack and Portishead that I have very little experience with. Even though the lyrics are in a foreign language, it didn't hurt the overall experience of the album (it have may limited it being better though). Melancholy in his voice and the music, contrasting with the Trip Hop style. Tabu, Rio Babel, and Pasco Immoral are the ones that I recommend checking out if the runtime can be off-putting to some; but it's well worth the journey. Wonderful album that I'm glad I came across.
19. Immolation - Close to a World Below (2000) A [4 listens A+/A/A/A] Better than most Death Metal. Love that the vocalist is slow with his pace (he was great!), along with a solid and steady guitar riffs. I really dislike that drum sound (banging on the toms), but that's a hurdle it feels like you have to overcome to really get into the genre itself. Any of the first 4 songs and Lost Passion are worth checking out.
20. The White Stripes - White Blood Cells (2001) B+ [3 listens B++/B++/B+] I get why they're labeled Blues Rock. Maybe I didn't notice it before, but he sings like John Lennon, where he constantly on that upper octave (which is well out of their ranges) and they crack notes a lot. It's charming to a certain degree, but I don't think it really works with this heavy style. My biggest issue with it is that it's doing multiple things at once, instead of separately. The loud songs are too understated, as Union or Offend should be a bigger, hard, fast paced songs but instead have slow sections. They have this heavy guitar for no reason. We're going to Be Friends and This Protector being tender songs, when it's full acoustic and has a consistent theme, further adds to the lack of uniformity. Also, songs rarely change/switch up, which normally isn't that big of a issue, but when they're all 3+ minutes long, they all drag on. I know what a "perfect version" sounds like from them, so a lot of missteps feel more obvious than if it was blind to me, but I'm not super invested in this album, even with the number of listens.
21. Muse: i. Absolution (2003) A++ [5 listens A++/A+/A++/A++/A++] what if Radiohead chose to stay in 1997? What is it with these Post BritPop bands with incredible sophomore releases? Similarly to Coldplay, I didn't care much for Origin of Symmetry and had low expectations going into this. I don't know if I'm being too generous as only about 3 or 4 of these songs are really strong, however none are what I'd consider skips. This album is so damn tight in its tracklist. Some of the best collections of hooks and bridges ever. The singing isn't always on point, but the way they nail down the perfect formula for every song overshadows most of their faults in not being too special in any particular category. ii. Black Holes and Revelations (2006) A++ [3 listens A/A++/A++] Back to back bangers?! This one is probably my favorite, especially with how strong the second half of the album is. All the songs are great, but aren't straight retreads of what Absolution brought with the varied added instruments. Again, nothing they're doing is otherworldly, but they execute the structures of all of the songs so perfectly, that you tend to ignore the mediocrity of the band members' skills individually. They're the sum of their parts; heavily carried by their collaboration with the songwriting. These two albums are BARLEY A++ though... so if I give these two A++s, then I'm going to retroactively make Ok Computer a "Masterpiece", because it doesn't sit right with me with them being on the same level. Great pair of albums; y'all sleeping on Muse?
22. My Chemical Romance - Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge (2004) B+ [3 listens B+/B++/B+] okay, this is emo, like legit emo pop. TBP had a bigger theatrical element infused in its identity, whereas this has all of its personality in its lyrics. And the lyrics are very... tbh cringe. Songs go in too long; great choruses and lyrics, but having the same structure over and over is too repetitive for me to really get into it. It's very melodramatic, particularly in the singing, which at least does make it a compelling listen. I just wish the music followed suit as well. He is also too frantic in his performance, where on TBP it is limited to a few songs. Maybe this is the line where it is too raw.
23. Joanna Newsom: i. YS (2006) B- [2 listen A-/B-] DENSE AS FUCK. Makes Bob Dylan look like an haiku writer. Each song is a storybook, that requires heavy attention. Music itself is not too impressive outside its complexity in the instrumentation. This non-stop, continuous nature of her singing is the major turn off. To a point where it's very hard to follow any story she's trying to paint and the entire thing feels tiring. I do like the harp playing and the orchestral spurts that brighten phrases, but that's the only positive I can come up with. Big disappointment and kinda soured me on her going forward. However, I decided on a whim to give her one more try and.... ii. The Milk Eyed Mender (2004) Masterpiece [3 listens A++/MP/MP] being majorly disappointed with YS, I decided to try her more stripped down Debut before completely writing her off, as the albums following YS are very long listens. And it turns out I actually enjoy this much more; matter of fact, I can't find any flaws within it: ZERO. Yes, her voice is even more of a sore thumb when most of the attention is on it (those harmonies on Peach Plum and Pear sound like Nightmare Fuel tbh). But if I can call Blonde on Blonde a perfect album, I can give a pass to her voice. Her flow in the songs are SOOO much better, that it makes YS looks even worse in that department. The harp playing isn't grand, but subdued in line with her wandering through each song; ebbing and flowing along with her energy in each track. Her cadence and timbre in how she sings is second to none her.
24. The Beach Boys: Brian Wilson Presents Smile (2005) A- [2 listens A/A-] most of my thoughts on in the Sessions review, as his worned voice hampered the album. I will say this imo would've bombed in 1967; baroque ballads, no rock lol. It would've kicked started Progressive Rock about 5 years sooner, but it wouldn't have made such a huge splash considering the trend all of music was already headed in at that point. This feels more like a live album / The Smile Sessions (2011) A++ [5 listens A/A/A+/A+/A++] BWPS felt like a monkey Brian needed to finally get off his back. A personal album made by Brian himself, whereas BWPS kinda feels like the "gift" to the world that SMiLE was promised as. This still has that youthful, tender energy of creation, where it's unabashedly open with its oddities. Kind of like how Beach Boys Today! was a left turn in their careers, this would've been that for Pet Sounds. BWPS was trying to meet SMiLE's high expectations; this is more honest. The harmonies are so warm, with the perfect blend of pathos. There's more playful instruments in the background that make the whole thing feel more playful. A few of the mixes aren't done well - "Wistful" is the best way to describe this project. Good vibrations finally "fits" inside an album; we can all die in peace now. It's too baroque to be really accessible and too Prog to have real standout hit singles. But as a confined experience, BY FAR the best the Beach Boys have made... or uhm would've made.
25. Sweet Trip - You Will Never Know Why (2009) A++ [4 listens A-/A++/MP/A++] ...I wish I didn't look up the background of this band before I listened to this. I went into Velocity Design and Comfort fully blind and while it's not the exact style I'm personally into, it's still so unique in what it brought, that I still think of it fondly. That is until I learned about one of the band members. The thing people don't understand about the "separate the art from the artist" thing is that is isn't because of a sense of "morally superiority", it's that every time I listen or consume the art.... I can't NOT think of them and what happened. I enjoyed this album a lot, but most of my time listening, my mind was clearly distracted. I was dying for them to go fully into the Electronic-Jangle Pop space they only would briefly explore on VDC. Valerie Cooper's singing is still SO awe inspiring and freezes you in time, easily the greatest part of the music. The only flaw is that it has only a handful of jingles that really grip me. Also, no entire song pulls me in the whole run, it's only really the chorus and occasionally the transitions between tracks (which are outstanding btw) which was also an issue with the VDC. If it was also a tad bit heavier in certain moments, that would've helped me overlook a lot of this minor flaws. Phenomenal album and perfect follow up, but it's gonna take some time before I can revisit this, as it's hard to mentally disassociate the individual from the music while it's so fresh in my mind.
Bonus Albums: (shorter reviews)
• Yellow Magic Orchestra - Solid State Survivor (1979) A [3 listens B/A/A] colorful and joyful. Sounds like this was the singular inspiration of every Nintendo soundtrack from the 80s and 90s lol. Liked the slow parts, but the bouncy songs are very fun to listen to. Low stakes but still aged wonderfully.
• Gary Numen - The Pleasure Principal (1979) B [2 listens B+/B] futuristic, yet undefined. Weird vocal style is kinda weird, not everyone can pull it off like David Byrne or Devo. Isn't jovial enough like YMO nor is breaking any new ground with the layout like Kraftwerk to compensate for its simplicity. Cars was a nice surprise tho.
• Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark - Architecture and Morality (1981) A- [3 listens B++/A-/A-] finally a legit "Pop" singer. Synths are used as an aesthetic and not a crutch, now starting to feel like a more modern (or 80s I guess) style. Joan of Arc and Souvenir are my favorites. Good, but nothing too incredible.
• Tears for Fears - Songs from the Big Chair (1985) A++ [2 listens A++/A++] holy hell, way way better than I expected it would be. I knew the two popular songs, but they were more denser and bigger than I assumed they were. The production here is so lush and wide, immediately obvious they were very "familiar" with the technology by then. I will be adding more of their albums for more detailed reviews on a future list. (Prob the Hurting and Seeds)

Read from April 29 – May 04, 2024
1/5 stars I HATED THIS
NOTE: I started out with an open mind read the first chapter, and then this turned into a hate-read.
That being said, no hate to anyone who enjoyed this book, I would love to hear what your opinions are, both on the book and this review :)
Let’s start with my ‘favourite’ quote:

“but it is impossible for someone who was not abused to become an abuser.”
Theo Faber, Psychotherapist

I genuinely do not understand what the hype around this book is.
To be fair, the second I read the words ‘TikTok sensation’ in the advertising, I should have known better.
The thing that struck me is that Michaelides is a SCREENWRITER, and this very much reads like a script, it felt like it was written solely for the purpose of selling the movie rights.
TLDR: This book wants to be Gone Girl so bad.
So, save yourself, if this is on your TBR, forget about it, read something else, ANYTHING else, read a newspaper, just don’t read this.
Longer rant Review, including the writing, characters, setting, and my main issues with this novel.

The Writing:

Is mediocre, at best. It’s very much in the style of ‘he said, she said’.
The best way I can describe it is that it reminds me of a middle-grade novel, where everything is stated clear cut and there isn’t much effort needed on the reader’s part.
There’s nothing wrong with that, for a KID’S book, but this is NOT written for a 10-year-old.
There’s long swaths of exposition, the chapters are between 2-5 pages long, we are constantly told who’s speaking, points are stated and then re-stated kind of like:

“Alicia Berenson has not spoken in 6 years” Diomedes said.
That’s right, from what I remember, she has not spoken since her husband was killed, 6 years ago.

So much needless repetition.
The reason I said that it reads like a script is because there is a lot of useless dialogue + endless descriptions.
Each character and setting is described in such needless detail, going on for entire paragraphs, for example:

Barbie was a Californian blonde in her mid-sixties, possibly older. She was drenched in Chanel No 5, and she’d had a considerable amount of plastic surgery. Her name suited her – she looked like a startled Barbie doll. She was obviously the kind of woman who was used to getting what she wanted – hence her loud protestations at the reception desk when she discovered she needed to make an appointment to visit a patient.

This character has been mentioned once or twice previously but she is relevant for MAYBE 15 pages out of 336.
Majority of the side characters are introduced like this, however, Theo isn’t really described in much detail beyond the ‘tall, dark and brooding’ trope and neither is Alicia, so the 2 protagonists are essentially blank slates.
The dialogue is so cringey, almost every chapter mentions the weather [this is set in the UK], like the weather is used as filler relentlessly.
There’s a bunch of continuity errors, the main one that comes to mind is that at the start of the book when Theo first enters The Grove [don’t even get me started on the name of the hospital, it sounds like the name of a cartoon villain’s layer, not a psych hospital] he is asked to give up his lighter and any other objects that could be used as weapons, yet he and majority of the side characters smoke CONSTANTLY INSIDE THE HOSPITAL.
The writing also reminded me A LOT of Colleen Hoover’s writing, and if that women has no haters, then I’m dead.

The Diary Entries:

Like I said, this book wants to be Gone Girl so bad.
The diary entries are written very weirdly, they don’t read like a journal, where you might get more of a stream of consciousness sort of style, they read like POV switches from 6 years in the past.
They don’t flow and amble like you would expect.
Examples:

Tears collected in my eyes as I walked up the hill. I wasn’t crying for my mother – or myself – or even that poor homeless man. I was crying for all of us. There’s so much pain everywhere, and we just close our eyes to it.
But I ruined the mood, stupidly, clumsily – by asking if he would sit for me. ‘I want to paint you,’ I said. ‘Again? You already did.’ ‘That was four years ago. I want to paint you again.’ ‘Uh-huh.’ He didn’t look enthusiastic. ‘What kind of thing do you have in mind?’ I hesitated – and then said it was for the Jesus picture. Gabriel sat up and gave a kind of strangled laugh. ‘Oh, come on, Alicia.’

The diary entries are not diary entries, they are memories.
People don’t write down entire conversations word for word like this when they journal, like “’
I had lunch with Martha’ he said”, you write it like “Gabriel had lunch with Martha today.”
I know why the diary entries feel so weird, they read like movie scenes, like a flashback.
Like the memory/subject of the diary entry should be playing in the background while someone narrates.
Again, this was a script, not a novel, I stand by this point.

The Characters:

Character development is frankly non-existent, the characters don’t exists as themselves, they exist to serve the plot.
They have no depth, and their motivations are lacking.
Theo faber: he was abused as a kid and is therefore damaged.
Chapter 3 was literally just an exposition dump of his entire childhood, just straight out of the blue.
It was like Chapter one: a report of the murder, chapter 2 further recollection, chapter 3: so my father beat throughout my childhood, I don’t know why.
Theo’s father was verbally and physically abuse, Theo attempted suicide when he was at uni, because the things his dad said made him feel like a failure.
But we are never told WHAT has been said, and therefore, we don’t see why exactly Theo would have doubts about himself.
Abuse shapes you as a person, if we got to hear his inner thoughts about what his father said, it would give greater insight into Theo’s identity as a character.
Besides that, Theo has a RAGING saviour complex,

“Unable to come to terms with what she had done, Alicia stuttered and came to a halt, like a broken car. I wanted to help start her up again – help Alicia tell her story, to heal and get well. I wanted to fix her.”

The book is filled with passages like that.
And besides that, it’s just filled with loads of nonsense psychobabble.
Theo is also OBSESSED with Alicia, the book tells us it’s out of guilt, but I contest and say that he’s just a creep who very much treats Alicia like a failed version of a manic pixie dream girl.
Alicia Berenson: Alicia is a walking contradiction.
We are told that she is beautiful, charming, sophisticated, but she instead comes across as an anti-social, paranoid shut in with serious co-dependency issues.
She has no friends, no relationships outside of her husband Gabriel, no hobbies, or interests outside of painting and having sex with her husband.
All she does in her chapters is paint, have arguments with people, have sex, and walk around.
Side characters: only exist to serve the plot.
Professor Lazarus Diomedes: the name alone makes me cringe.
He’s Greek, he has a lot of instruments in his office including a piano and a harp [which are never brought up after the initial chapters he’s introduced and he never plays any of them], he’s “unorthodox” and shunned, and he basically exists to be Theo Faber’s ‘yes man’.
Christian: stereotypical work rival who has a habit of calling all the patients bitches.
Yuri: He’s a psych nurse who takes Theo to bar and tell him that he and his wife divorced, and he fell in love with someone else. Fine fair enough, but does he approach this woman like a normal person?
No, he pulls a Joe from YOU and stalks and harasses her.
Yet later on THEO SAYS THAT HE IS A GOOD MAN AND THAT HE IS SORRY DOUBTING YURI. DESPITE INITIALLY BEING UNCOMFORTABLE WITH HIS BEHAVIOUR.
Then again Theo himself is a stalker so go figure.

The Setting:

The Grove is supposed to be a mental hospital used to detain mentally ill criminals.
Firstly, all the patients are female. It is never stated that the hospital is an all-female facility.
Second, we never get an idea of the scope of this place, there’s only one therapy room for EVERYONE to use, only 2 psychiatrists on payroll, Diomedes and Christian, 2 therapists, Theo and a side character named Indira, one psychiatric nurse, Yuri and an admin assistant, Stephanie.
The layout and descriptions are confusing, one area is referred to as the ‘Fishbowl’ throughout the novel.
Racism:
I don’t know if Michaelides has some internalized racism going on but every single foreign character has a habit of erasing their cultural identity.
Examples:
Yuri, the psych nurse who is Latvian –

Yuri was good-looking, well built, and in his late thirties. He had dark hair and a tribal tattoo creeping up his neck, above his collar. He smelled of tobacco and too much sweet aftershave. And although he spoke with an accent, his English was perfect.

This sort of backhanded compliment is considered racist, as someone who is POC myself, I’ve gotten this plenty of times and it always gives me the ick.
Jean-Felix, the gallerist –
He spoke with an accent. I asked if he was French. ‘Originally – from Paris. But I’ve been here since I was a student – oh, twenty years at least. I think of myself more as British these days.’
There were more examples, but these are the main ones I found in my notes.

Misogyny:

Firstly, the patients are all female, like I said earlier, it is never stated that it is an all-female facility.
This book is dripping with it, every single female character is either described as a manic pixie dream girl, a maternal figure, or a psychotic bitch.
The DOCTORS refer to their patients as bitches multiple times.
Example:

“She was entirely consumed with herself and her art. All the empathy you have for her, all the kindness – she isn’t capable of giving it back. She’s a lost cause. A total bitch.’ Christian said this with a scornful expression-“
Rowena gave a derisive snort. ‘Because Alicia’s the least responsive, most uncommunicative bitch I’ve ever worked with.’

Besides that, they are often compared to birds:

“I remember Mum and those colourful tops she’d wear, with the yellow stringy straps, so flimsy and delicate – just like her. She was so thin, like a little bird.”
“Alicia was sitting alone, I noticed, at the back of the room. She was picking at a meagre bit of fish like an anorexic bird;”

Alicia is also very much painted as a manic pixie dream girl in her diary entries, almost every page of her POV mentions sex, and it has no effect on the plot.
It was mentioned so often that I ended up keeping track out of boredom [I should have also tracked how often the weather was mentioned].
I think I have 15 tabs in 300 pages by the end of it for just sex scenes.
I don't have an issue with sex, but just like in movies when it gets thrown in for no reason, that's when it irritates me.
And of course the mentally ill woman with possible psychosis and BPD has to be shown as hot and a nymphomaniac.
Every one of her POVs reads like:
“Gabriel and I had an argument and then we had sex.”
“I went for a walk and fantasized about Gabriel.”
“I was trying to paint Gabriel but then we had sex.”
“I had an argument with someone and came home to wake up Gabriel and we had sex.”
I can see why this atrocity is a BookTok favourite.
Oh, and this line: [Warning NSFW]

“It’s still populated by sixteen-year-olds, embracing the sunshine, sprawled on either side of the canal, a jumble of bodies – boys in rolled-up shorts with bare chests, girls in bikinis or bras – skin everywhere, burning, reddening flesh. The sexual energy was palpable – their hungry, impatient thirst for life. I felt a sudden desire for Gabriel – for his body and his strong legs, his thick thighs lain over mine. When we have sex, I always feel an insatiable hunger for him – for a kind of union between us – something that’s bigger than me, bigger than us, beyond words – something holy.”

She’s out on a walk and salivating over 16-year-olds. Enough said.

Medical Malpractice:

Not only is a lot of the psychology in this book outdated, but in general, there is so much misinformation.
The psychology is so outdated, and it's mostly centered around Freud.
The biggest example I can think of is Alicia’s initial treatment, she has been put on Risperidone, which is an anti-psychotic prescribed to schizophrenic patients [Also prescribed for autism, BPD, etc. but that's on a case by case basis]
In the book, Alicia is shown to be completely out if it, she’s drooling on the floor, and practically comatose.
Risperidone is NOT a sedative [it can have sedative EFFECTS, but sedation is not the function] it acts on dopamine and serotine receptors and is used to reduce symptoms of schizophrenia, i.e. prevent hallucinations and help stabilize mood.
It should not be causing Alicia to be unresponsive.
[Disclaimer, this is just coming from my basic knowledge as a med student and a few quick google searches, if I'm wrong, please correct me.]
Moving on, Theo wants to treat Alicia but she’s on 16 mg of Risperidone, which is the highest safe dose possible.
He asks Christian to lower the dose, what does Christian do?
He stops giving Alicia 16 mg and switches her to 5 mg.
An 11 mg decrease. IN ONE DAY.
There is no gradual decrease, no safety precautions, NOTHING.
For context, Risperidone is prescribed in 0.5 – 1 mg increments.
This means that an 11 mg decrease is incredibly dramatic and DANGEROUS, it can send a patient into a psychotic episode, cause them to relapse and lead to withdrawal.
Christian being a psychiatrist should know this.
Patients are allowed access to a pool table without supervision, all the doctors smoke and offer their patients cigarettes,
Yuri deals drugs, Theo seemingly does no ither work besides talk to Alicia and play detective.

Depiction of mentally ill patients:

Throughout the book the patients are often referred to as animals, monstrous or zombies.
Examples:

“Her [Elif, a patient] face was pressed up against it, squashing her nose, distorting her features, making her almost monstrous.”
“It took four nurses to hold Alicia down. She writhed and kicked and fought like a creature possessed. She didn’t seem human, more like a wild animal; something monstrous.”
[Alicia is painting, Theo is watching]
“I felt like I was present at an intimate moment, watching a wild animal give birth. And although Alicia was aware of my presence, she didn’t seem to mind.”

On top of that, the word borderline gets thrown out A LOT, but it is never explained and is often derogatory.
Example:

[This is Christian the psychiatrist speaking, warning Theo about Alicia]
‘I’m just saying. Borderlines are seductive. That’s what’s going on here. I don’t think you fully get that.’

I am not against problematic writing, as long as it serves a purpose, but Michaelides is not talented enough to do something like this intentionally, and showing patients in this light serves no purpose.
Theo makes it very clear that he thinks that Elif, a Turkish woman, is ugly and rude, it is mentioned every time she is on the page.
This sort of depiction is harmful, mental health gets a bad enough rep as it is, again, I take no issue with problematic writing, but this is not problematic or controversial, this is ignorance.
The depiction of mental illness, coupled with the use of Risperidone, indicates, to me, that Michaelides did not do his research whatsoever.
He just thought of a cool idea and ran with it.
Oh, and lastly, let’s not forget:

“but it is impossible for someone who was not abused to become an abuser.”

No, just no. ANYONE can be abusive.
Correlation does not equal causation.
This is blatant misinformation and a very harmful message to send and I was actually so angry when I read that.

The Twist [spoilers]

The twist is the most ridiculous thing, and it hangs on by a thread.
I had already guessed that Gabriel was the one who Kathy’s affair partner was, and the entire thing falls apart when you realize that if any of Theo’s chapters were dated, you would figure it out immediately.
That’s a very loose basis for a dramatic reveal.
Yes, Theo is an unreliable narrator and I usually enjoy such stories, but this was just lazy.
I’m sorry, Theo followed Gabriel all over London and never ONCE saw his face, never heard Kathy moan his name when he was spying on them, not ONCE.
It’s poor when your twist relies on my suspension of disbelief.
Conclusion
- Poorly written, reads like a middle-grade novel. Michaelides is a screenwriter, and this very much reads like a script, designed to be easy to follow and direct.
- Horrible depiction mental health, both as a patient and in practice.
- Hollow, 2D characters.
- Misogynistic.
- Overall waste of time, save yourself.

Memory transcription subject: Zeel, Security Chief of the Red Sands District.
Date [Standardized human time]: June 3 2138
“This can’t be real right?” I hear from over my shoulder. “I mean, it’s got to be, what’s that phrase, click-bait?” I turn around to the young gojid intern watching the holo-screen over my shoulder. I flick my tail with a firm yes. “It has to be, other wise we need to start a murder investigation.” I blink, briefly reflecting that just a year ago I would have said predator attack without one thought that a fellow sapient could be responsible for a back alley stabbing. “B-but that blurred orange blob on the picture!” She replies, spins bristling. “Also fake.” I reassure my assistant. “Don’t worry Bavik. I watched their other videos. It’s just eye catching headlines and dumb kids looking for fame.” I sigh and turn back to the holo-screen watching the counter tick down. “I-I-I guess.” She replies, no less pointy than before. “I mean, a human actually e-e-ea… ingesting a sapient. That’s crazy right?” I can’t help but scoff, the only reason we had to waist our time on this nonsense ‘investigation’ was because of all the concerned phone calls demanding flame throwers and kicked down doors. Not that anyone even knew where on Skalga they actually where.
“What’s crazy is my pup refusing dinner because it smells funny. It did not!” It was Bavik’s turn to scoff. “And how would you know?” She asks, spines lowering as the mood relaxes. “Cheap! Shot!” I retort, holding back an amused bleat. “Look!” she blurts, pointing a claw at the screen.
[Live stream starting: 3… 2… 1…]

The view window opens on a blue painted wall. Scuffling sounds can be heard as the view wobbles and zooms out to reveal a plain wooden table with a metal dome covering a plate while a napkin, fork, knife and microphone sit off to the side.
“Are we rolling?” “Yeah we’re good. Connects a little slow with the anti-location finder but it’s going through.” “How many viewers?” “Uhhhh, three thousand, five hundred and counting.” “Really!??!! That’s great” “Some of these have got to be exterminators ‘Bonnie’ This isn’t a goo-“ “Oh hush, it’ll be fine. Come on! Sit!”
Coming into view from the left, a human of average height, red hair, and portly build wearing a simple beige hoodie, a baseball cap and aviator style sunglasses across his eyes took a seat behind the table. “Alright, introduce yourself!” The human sighs and gives his head a small shake. “Hi, people of the internet. My name is ‘Clyde’.”
He puts up his hands and makes air quotes while saying his name. Shortly after, a foggy grey furred venlil wearing a decoratively torn pink colored jean-jacket with her mop of head fur styled into a mohawk featuring yellow dyed tips while each ear had several clip-on earrings attached. “And I’m ‘Bonnie’!” she says excitedly, repeating the finger gesture while hopping into frame from the right and tossing an arm around the sitting human. “We’re exchange partners, best friends and partners in crime!” Her tail was swishing rapidly, signing happy, excited, good things and watch close in a blur that made things hard to read.
“Tell our viewers what we’re streaming today!” She bleats, jostling ‘Clyde’ who seemed to be trying not to show a toothy grin at his partners enthusiasm.
“Alright, alright. From the duo that brought you First Ever Venlil Skateboarding.” ‘Bonnie’ holds up her other arm, proudly showing off a wrist cast covered in signatures and doodles. “And Drunk Friend Mystery Tattoo” ‘Clyde’ rolls up his right sleeve, showing off what appeared to be either the side profile of a deformed horse or a very unfortunate dossur. ‘Clyde’ tugs down his sleeve and nervously taps his finger on the table. “What’s in store for our audience today ‘Bonnie’?” The venlil girl nearly bounces with glee and grabs the top of the silver metal dome. “Ven-Steak Dinner!” She yanks off the dome. A puff of hot steam clears away to reveal a slab of freshly seared meat with a sprig of parsley on top. “Ugh why is it purple!?” ‘Clyde’ blurts, jumping at the sight before him. “I don’t know, it cooked up that way. The stuff you eat turns brown.” ‘Bonnie’ says with a shrug while tucking a napkin into ‘Clyde’s’ collar.
“C’mon stick to the script.” She whispers taking a seat of her own. “So, ‘Clyde’, why are you eating genuine venlil meat today?” “Because you’re crazy?” ‘Bonnie’ giggles, swats him with her tail and continues, answering her own question.
“Because we are going to prove once and for all that humans are not ravenous beasts and can control their instincts around us poor meek venlil.” ‘Clyde’ rolls his eyes under the sunglasses.
“And that we don’t even have instincts like that. Really, it’s getting kinda racist.” He looks down at the cooked meal before him, lips curling slightly.
“Now, before anyone runs for the exterminator hotline, well those of you that haven’t fainted or run for cover yet, this is actually-“ “ME!!!” ‘Bonnie’ Jumps into her exchange partners lap, arms spreading to present herself. “Yes, you heard it right! That’s me on that plate. Believe it or not viewers, I borrowed a synthesizer from one of the labs that bought freedom for so many. Took my own cell culture and grew my friend here a lovely meal of grade A, free range, yours truly.” ‘Bonnie’ hops down, tail swishing excitedly and fur ruffled with glee. “So, since this is one hundred percent consensual, technically not illegal and ethically sourced, none of you FED loving traditionalists have any right to freak out!” She wags her finger at the camera, a human gesture she had picked up along with the late 2070’s neo-pop skater fashion sense.
“And much to my regret, I owe this, possibly one legit case of predator disease in the entire galaxy, a huge favor.” ‘Clyde’ chimes in while adjusting the napkin in his shirt, before pausing with a confused look on his half-hidden face. “…wait, I thought the tattoo made us ev-“ “Shh, it’s on.” She interrupts, gesturing at the camera with her tail. “All right good citizens of Skalga, you will now bear witness to history’s first documented expert taste test of ven-meat!” ‘Bonnie’ passes the fork to ‘Clyde’ and sits in her chair, practically vibrating with excitement and bearing a slight bloom across her face.
‘Clyde’ takes the utensils and starts to cut off a piece, his expression going worried and the sawing motion of the knife slowing to a stop half through the cut. “It looks like petrol in puddle.” He says with puzzlement. “What do you mean?” “The juice that’s coming out, it’s all shiny and metallic. What did you cook this in?”
“Nothing! Just the auto chef and some vegetable oil like you suggested, didn’t even salt it.” “Yenv- ‘Bonnie’ I don’t think I should eat this.”
“Oh come on, we went through all this effort! Don’t you wanna beat the products for predator channel? They did a fake heart and got over half a million subscribers, the real thing will bury that! Maybe even get us a sponsor!”
‘Clyde’ laughs and nods. “Alright alright.” He finishes cutting through the piece and brings it up to his mouth. The human pauses and sniffs at the shimmering purple seared, orange centered meat, wrinkles his nose and jerks back. “Well, uhm, it has a distinct grease trap aroma, with a hint of, ugh, paint thinner?.” “Is that… good?” She asks, having no context for smells “…No. ‘Bonnie’ I’m not sure this is safe.”
“Oh don’t be such a pup. It’s not like I’m serving you a flying machine.” She replies, playfully jostling her friend.
“That nutjob just wanted attention.” ‘Clyde’ replies defensively. “So do we! Go on, eat me!”
With a grimace, the human puts the piece in his mouth, chews once and immediately groans. “Well? Don’t leave us all in suspense. Are we really the most delicious thing in the galaxy? Are you ravenous for more? Perhaps something fresher? Am I *gasp* in danger?” She says, phoning in a fake fearfulness for the camera. ‘Clyde’, shivers, chews again, and forces himself to swallow. He coughs, pulls a water bottle from under the table to swish and spit into a garbage can beside him. “God, that is the foulest, gamiest thing I ever put in my mouth! UGH!!!” He pushes the plate away and wipes his tongue on the napkin. ‘Bonnie’ leans back in her chair, tail flicking curiosity and the bloom fading. “Really? But.. the arxur keep calling us delicacy.” She glances at the lab grown bit of herself still steaming on the plate. “Arxur don’t know [censored], meat shouldn’t be sour!” He exclaims, hacking a wad of foamy spit into the can again. “Jeeze, you need to lay off the junk food! It’s like you’re pickling yourself.” he scolds, more foamy spittle dribbling down his lips before he can spit again. ‘Bonnie’ whistles and purrs with amusement, offering the sprig of parsley. ‘Clyde’ flicks it away much to her delight. “Well, there you have it viewers, humans don’t even think we taste good. Guess we had nothing to fea-“
‘Clyde’ suddenly gags and claps a hand over his mouth hard. ‘Bonnie’ gasps, her joyful tail wagging coming to a halt as her humans expression turned pale and distraught. “I’m gunna…” ‘Clyde’ suddenly stands, tossing the chair he was sitting in as he bolted out of frame. “PHILLIP?!!” ‘Bonnie’ shouts as she too leaves the room. The camera view suddenly twisting and hurtling towards the floor where it blacks out.

Stream disconnected, standby…
[Memory transcript interrupted, warning, high stress and blood pressure levels detected. Resuming, time elapsed, two hours]
The window suddenly reconnects, showing ‘Clyde’ sitting at the table, cradling the garbage can in his lap, the plate and its contents gone from the room. His face was pasty, sweaty, his sunglasses askew and hat tossed next to the microphone.
“By the great protector!” ‘Bonnie’ bleats from off screen. ‘Clyde’ makes an “Uhh?” in response just before hiccupping and bringing his head over the can. ‘Bonnie’ comes into frame, tail signing reassurances to the camera. ‘Clyde’ relaxes and leans back again, looking rather unhappy. “Well, good news ALL TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND VIEWERS!!! ‘Clyde’ here is totally fine and making a steady recovery.” To which the human gave a shaky thumbs up. “Even better news!” ‘Bonnie’ whistles, tail signaling to fast to read. “Our predator friends CAN’T eat us!” She sidles over to her human and puts a reassuring arm across his slumped shoulders. ‘Clyde’ nods and sits up a little. “So apparently,” he begins after taking a breath, “The chemicals that venlil bodies use to metabolize air and exhale waste gas, the stuff that makes your blood orange like iron makes ours red, is moderately toxic to human biology.” Winded by the explanation, ‘Clyde’ slouches again and sips from the water bottle. “Yeppers! The [no translation available in English] reacts with human stomach acid like vinegar and baking soda, hence the foaming.” There is a brief pause, ‘Bonnie’ glancing at her human and giving a light tail tap to his leg. “Yes, it also causes nausea, vomiting, disorientation, indigestion and a lingering sour taste.” “And yet the arxur have no tummy trouble with any aliens. Why do you think that is ‘Clyde’?” ‘Bonnie’ prompts, her fur puffing excitedly again. “Uhh, if they are anything like monitors and alligators, then the Arxur must have poor taste buds and much tougher stomachs that can probably digest a truck tire. Human in cont ‘hic’ rast have been cooking for almost a million years. It’s far safer bacteria and parasite wise, more efficient for absorbing nutrients and *belch* excuse me.”
“Yes.” ‘Bonnie’ says, taking over the rehearsed lines “And as such they have at an evolutionary level, lost the ability to handle tougher foods like raw meat, bones, roots, bark and anything even slightly expired. So, even against us prey species with our multichambered stomachs and fermenting guts, our hominid friends have comparatively sensitive tummies.” She pats his belly, to which he briefly aims at the can again. ‘Bonnie’ twitches her ears in a concerned way before turning back to the camera.
“So, there you have it Skalgans! We had nothing to fear this whole time. All the running, hiding, mask mandates, exterminator rallies and stressing out was totally pointless. Because…” She drum rolls her paws on the table in dramatic fashion “We’re basically toxic!” “Or there’s something seriously wrong with this one.” ‘Clyde’ chimes in, smiling and giving a slight chuckle at her paw swat retort. “Hey, this means I can get drunk and tattoo you now, right?” “No it does not!” “Course I’ll have to shave you first.” “Ahh, that is not happening!” ‘Bonnie’ blurts, the bloom returning to her face. “Let’s have chat decide. How about it? Follow the link below and donate say… twenty thousand credits to the Thafki rehoming fund and you’ll get to see me ink a naughty word on ‘Bonnie’s’ shaved butt.” ‘Clyde says with a grin, his color starting to come back. Blooming brightly, the venlil growls and whacks the laughing humans arm with her cast and turns toward the camera. “Alright” She says, picking up a remote. “That’s it for the stream, next week we’ll continue our series of vintage Earth TV with… uhh…” “Jackass.” ‘Clyde’ prompts. “Right, we’re going to react to a twentieth century human comedy stunt variety show. It’s all public domain so you can watch live with us. No charge and none of those pesky U.N. restrictions!”
Bonnie and Clyde wave to the audience as the colorful venlil points the remote.
[Stream ended. Have a great paw, friends!]
I put down the holo-pad and rub my bloodshot eyes. What we just watched had my fur puffed, the phones ringing off the hook across several districts and my staff either clamoring to unlock the confiscated exterminator gear, fainted, frozen with dread or chatting rapidly over the outcome of the kids insane experiment. Amazingly, no stampedes where being reported, but the press was still going to have a field day.
After a shaky breath I spin the chair around to face my assistant.
We stare at each other. After a long minute, the bristling gojid quietly says. “Maybe I’m toxic too.” I blink slowly and reply “What’s stunt comedy?” Bavik flicks his ears in ignorance. “We could subscribe and find out?” Turning back to the holo pad, staring at the screen for a moment, I tap the button. Sending the counter up by one. Then throw a few credits at the donation fund. “Crazy kids.” I say with an amused tail flick.

The ball streaked towards little Jimmy Hanson, covering the distance uncomfortably fast. The scrawny boy two sizes too small with the aviator glasses, cringed out of the way. It landed directly where he had been standing, and like that the game ended.
“Damnit Jimmy, you're supposed to catch the ball not hide from it!” a fat kid with a glove on one hand cried.
A skinny boy with glasses turned from the pitcher's mound to look at Jimmy disdain clearly visible on his face, “This is the third run you’ve allowed, and you wonder why we never let you play with us. You’re dog shit! Actually, I apologize to all loads of shit out there, you’re even more useless. I’d prefer to have Roger Morris on our team and he can’t see a damn thing with those bug eyes.”
An easy-going boy with blonde shaggy hair and a confident smile strolled up to Jimmy, extending his hand to assist, and said, “Here let me help you up. After all, you're the best player on our team. MVP hands down. Come on boys, give him a cheer!”
The boys chanted Jimmy’s name in a mocking parade of triumph.
“I don’t need your help, David,” said Jimmy.
Dirt smeared and face growing hot, the embarrassed boy attempted to climb to his feet. The hand extended to help, struck lightning-fast, catching the smaller boy squarely in the chest. With a groan of pain, the dirty boy hit the ground for the second time that afternoon.
“Well, if I knew you liked to eat dirt so much, I never would’ve offered to help,” said David, a wolfish smile forming on the landscape of his face.
A chorus of cruel laughter echoed all around.
“I hate you David Baxly,” said the wheezing boy.
David looked at Jimmy with disgust, giving him a savage kick to his left kidney. “Why don’t you do us all a favor and die. I doubt even your family would miss you.”
The rest of the boys walked away leaving the bleeding Jimmy whimpering on the ground.
No longer crying from pain but seething anger, slowly he began to crawl to his feet. “I wish I could go somewhere else. Just pick up and move and never have to see those shitheads ever again,” said Jimmy speaking to no one in particular.
It was thoughts of revenge that occupied his mind, half-baked plans, he didn't have the courage to act upon. No matter, it wasn’t revenge he truly sought, but a friend. The idea of having people look at him and truly see him. Humiliation for David Baxly was just an added bonus.
The bloody boy was still fantasizing about these things, when he found himself staring at the intersection of Jackson and main street in the sleepy town of Brookhollow, Tennessee. Brookhollow is like many rural towns, so tiny that it doesn’t even appear on the map. There are 876 residents in the tight-knit community, according to the 2008 census. Main street boasts one general store, a gas station, the town hall, and Debbie’s Diner.
It was on the outside of the later building that he saw the missing sign of Jack Dunkin, a 12-year-old boy from a neighboring town a few miles to the west. Jack was from Polk, a slightly larger town and known rival to Brookhollow. Even though Jack was in the same grade as Jimmy, they had never met.
Jimmy looked at the picture and saw that the boy had been missing for nearly 3 months. He wondered how his mom would react if he was missing that long; he reached the conclusion that she probably wouldn’t even notice. Ever since she took that job at Debbie’s to pay for the remainder of her husband’s gambling debts, she was hardly even home.
She was gone when he woke and didn't come back too well after he was asleep. The only time Jimmy had any communication with Laura Hanson was on Sundays. Even this small exposure was tainted by the bone deep exhaustion. She may have been present, even so, she wasn't there. Laura wakes, eats, drinks, uses the bathroom; yet she isn't really living. She reminded the boy of those cheesy horror movies they sometimes play late at night. The walking dead.
As little as his interaction with Laura, at least she still lived in the ramshackle motorhome right off the main highway. His dad, if he even still qualified to be called that, left some time back, draining the joint bank account and leaving the two of them penniless. Jimmy didn’t even know where he stayed, let alone had a phone number for the bastard. A few years back he received a postcard from him. He was shelled up in some two-bit motel in the thriving city of Las Vegas. On the back of the card was a charming little note, it said, “Jimmy, I wish you could see the city. Maybe you could come out and visit. I’d love for you to come and hang with my friends. Ps. Could you have your mom send me some money, I’m in a little bit of trouble here.
This led to his first real fight with his mom. He was adamant on going and meeting his father, thinking that if he got to know him he could change him. Bring him back. His mom wanted nothing to do with the man, nor did she want her son to be hurt again. The argument got heated and words were exchanged. In the end, he stayed, but some things chafe over time. Things were never quite the same.
If the boy was honest with himself, he would have to admit there is no one in his life. He has no friends in school, there is no one waiting for him at home, and he is not a part of any extracurricular activities. He goes to school, comes home, does his homework, makes dinner for his mom, and goes to bed. It has never occurred to him that he is lonely, the fact is he has never known anything else.
Jimmy doesn’t actually live in Brookhollow, his house is about two miles north up highway 29. He lives outside of the school’s jurisdiction, so he is unable to take the bus. He walks to school every day. The walk is peaceful and he actually looks forward to it. The boy possesses an overactive imagination and gets lost in his fantasies. A little less today, his ribs ache with every step. But not even this inconvenience can ruin the solitary 2-mile trek back home. He makes no turns, highway 29 is main street. All he needs to do is walk straight and he will arrive at his house.
But he is not walking in rural Tennessee anymore. He is a pioneer exploring the Great Frontier. Native Americans and wolves stalk him at night, he must be aware of the dangers that lie beyond every turn. He can see his way through any situation with the help of his trusty companion and best friend, One-eyed Pete. Pete used to be an outlaw that robbed and cheated people, but changed his ways when Jimmy saved him from being hung on the hanging tree.
A shutter runs through his body every time he remembers the hanging tree. It’s the largest oak he had ever seen. He loves to climb trees but would never dream of climbing that one. It is twisted, not a single leaf on its branches. If evil was ever a location, it would be at the heart of that gnarled tree. Jimmy doesn’t like to think about it. It always seems to ruin his mood. Poison his mind. His fantasies always turn darker when he thinks of the oak.
Suddenly he is aware of exactly how alone he is. A full mile out from the safety of the town. No one is nearby. It’s just him, the trees, and his own tormented imagination. He wishes he wouldn’t have thought of that tree. He wishes he had a dad to pick him up from school, but there is no rescue for him. In Jimmy’s experience, heroes only exist in the story books.
“The hanging tree is in your mind, Jimmy, it isn't real,” he tells himself over and over as if to ward away evil. And why not? For that tree is most definitely evil, the hideous villain in an insidious plot.
In the primal portion of his mind, he senses danger. The same skittish feeling the antelope experiences shortly before the concealed lion pounces and feasts on flesh.
“Trees don’t eat little boys,” murmurs the frightened boy.
“Maybe so, yet that oak could hardly be classified in the same league as other trees,” responds his own treasonous thoughts.
The boy's mind splinters; warring factions jockeying for supremacy. Paranoia seizes him, inky black hands clawing the air out of his lungs. A young boy unaware of the inward mutiny happening amidst his own wits, completely left to his own demented imagination. Yet, the stakes of this adventure are a great deal higher than any he has yet to experience.
His mother was fond of telling him, “What you think, you become.”
A truly awful thought slinks into his mind unbidden. What if the stories his mind conjures could gain reality too? The thought overwhelms the boy. His eyes shift back and forth searching for threats. Jimmy’s senses are keen to his surroundings. Every twig snapping, a creature stalking. Every bush rustling, a hungry beast ready to devour. Yet, the petty fears of a child's tormented mind pales to the unearthly wrongness of the hanging tree.
“What if mom is right?” says the concerned boy to the emptiness. At this unwelcome thought the boy slams his eyes closed in a futile attempt to banish the horrific idea.
“The hanging tree isn’t real,” says Jimmy, knowing in his heart this isn’t true. In the back of his mind, the boy is certain that the moment he opens his eyes, he will see it. He will see the strands of rope dangling from the gnarled branches. He will smell the smell of decaying bodies. He will hear the creak of rope swaying gently in the cool breeze.
The boy doubles his efforts in a vain attempt to keep his eyes closed. He sees red due to the strain he is putting on his muscles. He hears the steady pulse of his blood rushing in his head. The boy also understands that all this effort is for naught. He must open his eyes at some point. Jealousy creeps into the boy’s heart. Envy for the man born without sight. For the boy understands the moment he sees, there will be no coming back.
The moment has come.
Jimmy can no longer keep his eyes shut. Seconds before his eyes fling open, he feels the gentle touch of someone's hand on his shoulder. This touch startles him, and the boy throws wide his eyes.
Sure enough a few hundred yards in front of him, stands the abomination. A lone tree on the top of a bald, scarred hill. Not a living thing to be seen. No vegetation growing on the hill, no squirrels scuttling about, just a great oak, standing; an obscene gesture to the god of this world. The only fruit of this tree the decaying flesh of dead men, and likewise, the only cup the curdled blood of those hanging. A final meal set for the boy, an unholy communion.
The hand, whose was it? Was it even human? The little boy left visibly shaking at the touch of the unknown. Is this death? The icy grip of the Reaper himself here to harvest with his scythe. No marriage, no children, not knowing the pleasures of true friendship. Life cut short, a lamentable state of affairs.
It was in this line of thought, where true courage was mustered. A strength measured not by the size of his muscles or the amount one could lift, but the more impressive type, the type quantified in the amount of shit one can wade. Identified in the amount of crap hands dealt without bowing out altogether. Young Jimmy Hanson did the unthinkable, he turned and faced death looking it in the eyes.
Eyes, yes, but death perhaps not. It was no titan of horror, nor was it the poster child of demented evil. Child it was, but this boy was familiar. Not anyone from his class, yet he knew the boy. In a moment of clarity, he recognized him. It was the missing kid, Jack Dunkin.
He looked identical to the poster on the side of Debbie’s Diner. He wore the same black and white Van’s tee shirt, ripped blue jeans, and some tattered Nike tennis shoes. The thoroughly terrified Jimmy stood staring at the missing boy, mouth ajar.
Jack with an easy-going grin plastered on his face, said, “It's about time, someone comes looking for me. I've been waiting for you Jimmy, far too long.”
With an audible click the boy shut his gaping mouth and responded, “Ja- Jack, you've been missing for nearly three months. Have you been out here all along? Are you alone? Are you hurt?” Jimmy fired these questions in rapid succession, growing more suspicious with each word.
“I’ve been right here, waiting for you to come and play with me. You see, I am like you. I never had anyone to play with either. Now you are here, and you must stay with me,” said the bigger boy with a smile on his face.
Jimmy’s mind quieted, for the first time in his life he saw himself clearly. A boy with no friends, no father, hardly a mother, bullied every day, and no way of escape. Clarity revealed the harsh truth. A day had not gone by that he wasn’t lonely. There was no one in his life. There was no life for him.
The undersized boy looked at the other with longing in his eyes. He thirsted for a friend, like a man lost at sea. He hungered for companionship, like a man stuck in the wilderness. It wasn’t just a desire; he was desperate for a friend. If the bigger boy would leave, Jimmy felt as if his soul would tear in half. His heart would shatter into a thousand pieces unable to be put back together. The boys' eyes were a mirror reflecting the same sad truth, they understood each other. Both had lived, and neither had anyone to share it with.
The boys bound by shared hardships grasped onto each other refusing to let go. The combined burden of loneliness lessened by two backs, instead of one.
With few words exchanged, the two of them created soul ties. Not the ties of lovers, but of lifelong friends. The type one dies for. The rare type of friendship that most people never form in their entire life. It was rich. It was wholesome. Jimmy felt as if his life was complete. The one thing he always desired truly fulfilled.
Jack grabbed the smaller boy’s hand and guided him towards the tree.
Jimmy, not wanting to get anywhere near that monstrosity, tried to pull back.
“Don’t worry. The tree is a good place. It will take us to a new land filled with boys and girls just like you and I. No David’s or bullies like him,” said a smiling Jack.
“How did you know about David? You’ve been missing all this time,” said a concerned looking Jimmy.
“Jimmy, I hear whispers. My friends tell me things. They will tell you secrets too. If you want to be friends with me, that is.” The bigger boy looked down at his ragged shoes. He looked so pitiful and Jimmy was so starved for companionship, how could he not follow the boy.
Jack led the two of them to the scarred trunk of the tree. Here he let go of Jimmy’s hand, telling the boy, “Do exactly what I do.”
Jimmy’s fear bottled up deep in his guts. He felt as if he was going to explode. The tree was sinister and twisted. Evil through and through. Yet, the little boy had never had a friend. He was not willing to throw that away so easily.
Jack walked to the lowest hanging branch. He reached up and grabbed one of the dangling nooses. He wrapped it around his neck and looked at Jimmy. “Don’t worry, no pain is felt. The hanging tree is magic. You’ll close your eyes on this world, and wake up in a better place with me and all of my friends,” said a smiling Jack.
“Ja-Jack, I don’t think I can do this. It seems dangerous. I need to go back home soon. My mom will be waiting for me,” said a terrified Jimmy.
A heartbroken Jack looked at the smaller boy and said, “Jimmy, I can’t believe you would lie to me. Your mom isn’t home and she wouldn’t even notice that you are missing. Come with me. I am the only one who cares for you.”
Tears streaming down the smaller boy’s face, he responded, “Please don’t make me do it! This place frightens me. Can’t you just come home with me?”
“No! This world despises people like you and me. We weren’t made for it. We were made for the hanging tree. This is where you belong,” snarled the bigger boy.
Jimmy, eyes still running, reached with trembling hands for the dangling noose. He seized it. With one final glance at his friend, the little boy placed the loop around his neck. Immediately the noose drew tight. It felt as if the tree was hauling him up by it. The boy kicked and squirmed. Trying to shout for help, but his airflow was cut off. He managed to make a choking noise, then with one final twitch all was still. Still as the glassy surface of a lake on a spring day.
Little Jimmy Hanson had finally made a friend.
The two boys remained dangling together, gently swaying in the stale autumn breeze.

The Hanging Tree

By John Westrick
The ball streaked towards little Jimmy Hanson, covering the distance uncomfortably fast. The scrawny boy two sizes too small with the aviator glasses, cringed out of the way. It landed directly where he had been standing, and like that the game ended.
“Damnit Jimmy, you're supposed to catch the ball not hide from it!” a fat kid with a glove on one hand cried.
A skinny boy with glasses turned from the pitcher's mound to look at Jimmy disdain clearly visible on his face, “This is the third run you’ve allowed, and you wonder why we never let you play with us. You’re dog shit! Actually, I apologize to all loads of shit out there, you’re even more useless. I’d prefer to have Roger Morris on our team and he can’t see a damn thing with those bug eyes.”
An easy-going boy with blonde shaggy hair and a confident smile strolled up to Jimmy, extending his hand to assist, and said, “Here let me help you up. After all, you're the best player on our team. MVP hands down. Come on boys, give him a cheer!”
The boys chanted Jimmy’s name in a mocking parade of triumph.
“I don’t need your help, David,” said Jimmy.
Dirt smeared and face growing hot, the embarrassed boy attempted to climb to his feet. The hand extended to help, struck lightning-fast, catching the smaller boy squarely in the chest. With a groan of pain, the dirty boy hit the ground for the second time that afternoon.
“Well, if I knew you liked to eat dirt so much, I never would’ve offered to help,” said David, a wolfish smile forming on the landscape of his face.
A chorus of cruel laughter echoed all around.
“I hate you David Baxly,” said the wheezing boy.
David looked at Jimmy with disgust, giving him a savage kick to his left kidney. “Why don’t you do us all a favor and die. I doubt even your family would miss you.”
The rest of the boys walked away leaving the bleeding Jimmy whimpering on the ground.
No longer crying from pain but seething anger, slowly he began to crawl to his feet. “I wish I could go somewhere else. Just pick up and move and never have to see those shitheads ever again,” said Jimmy speaking to no one in particular.
It was thoughts of revenge that occupied his mind, half-baked plans, he didn't have the courage to act upon. No matter, it wasn’t revenge he truly sought, but a friend. The idea of having people look at him and truly see him. Humiliation for David Baxly was just an added bonus.
The bloody boy was still fantasizing about these things, when he found himself staring at the intersection of Jackson and main street in the sleepy town of Brookhollow, Tennessee. Brookhollow is like many rural towns, so tiny that it doesn’t even appear on the map. There are 876 residents in the tight-knit community, according to the 2008 census. Main street boasts one general store, a gas station, the town hall, and Debbie’s Diner.
It was on the outside of the later building that he saw the missing sign of Jack Dunkin, a 12-year-old boy from a neighboring town a few miles to the west. Jack was from Polk, a slightly larger town and known rival to Brookhollow. Even though Jack was in the same grade as Jimmy, they had never met.
Jimmy looked at the picture and saw that the boy had been missing for nearly 3 months. He wondered how his mom would react if he was missing that long; he reached the conclusion that she probably wouldn’t even notice. Ever since she took that job at Debbie’s to pay for the remainder of her husband’s gambling debts, she was hardly even home.
She was gone when he woke and didn't come back too well after he was asleep. The only time Jimmy had any communication with Laura Hanson was on Sundays. Even this small exposure was tainted by the bone deep exhaustion. She may have been present, even so, she wasn't there. Laura wakes, eats, drinks, uses the bathroom; yet she isn't really living. She reminded the boy of those cheesy horror movies they sometimes play late at night. The walking dead.
As little as his interaction with Laura, at least she still lived in the ramshackle motorhome right off the main highway. His dad, if he even still qualified to be called that, left some time back, draining the joint bank account and leaving the two of them penniless. Jimmy didn’t even know where he stayed, let alone had a phone number for the bastard. A few years back he received a postcard from him. He was shelled up in some two-bit motel in the thriving city of Las Vegas. On the back of the card was a charming little note, it said, “Jimmy, I wish you could see the city. Maybe you could come out and visit. I’d love for you to come and hang with my friends. Ps. Could you have your mom send me some money, I’m in a little bit of trouble here.
This led to his first real fight with his mom. He was adamant on going and meeting his father, thinking that if he got to know him he could change him. Bring him back. His mom wanted nothing to do with the man, nor did she want her son to be hurt again. The argument got heated and words were exchanged. In the end, he stayed, but some things chafe over time. Things were never quite the same.
If the boy was honest with himself, he would have to admit there is no one in his life. He has no friends in school, there is no one waiting for him at home, and he is not a part of any extracurricular activities. He goes to school, comes home, does his homework, makes dinner for his mom, and goes to bed. It has never occurred to him that he is lonely, the fact is he has never known anything else.
Jimmy doesn’t actually live in Brookhollow, his house is about two miles north up highway 29. He lives outside of the school’s jurisdiction, so he is unable to take the bus. He walks to school every day. The walk is peaceful and he actually looks forward to it. The boy possesses an overactive imagination and gets lost in his fantasies. A little less today, his ribs ache with every step. But not even this inconvenience can ruin the solitary 2-mile trek back home. He makes no turns, highway 29 is main street. All he needs to do is walk straight and he will arrive at his house.
But he is not walking in rural Tennessee anymore. He is a pioneer exploring the Great Frontier. Native Americans and wolves stalk him at night, he must be aware of the dangers that lie beyond every turn. He can see his way through any situation with the help of his trusty companion and best friend, One-eyed Pete. Pete used to be an outlaw that robbed and cheated people, but changed his ways when Jimmy saved him from being hung on the hanging tree.
A shutter runs through his body every time he remembers the hanging tree. It’s the largest oak he had ever seen. He loves to climb trees but would never dream of climbing that one. It is twisted, not a single leaf on its branches. If evil was ever a location, it would be at the heart of that gnarled tree. Jimmy doesn’t like to think about it. It always seems to ruin his mood. Poison his mind. His fantasies always turn darker when he thinks of the oak.
Suddenly he is aware of exactly how alone he is. A full mile out from the safety of the town. No one is nearby. It’s just him, the trees, and his own tormented imagination. He wishes he wouldn’t have thought of that tree. He wishes he had a dad to pick him up from school, but there is no rescue for him. In Jimmy’s experience, heroes only exist in the story books.
“The hanging tree is in your mind, Jimmy, it isn't real,” he tells himself over and over as if to ward away evil. And why not? For that tree is most definitely evil, the hideous villain in an insidious plot.
In the primal portion of his mind, he senses danger. The same skittish feeling the antelope experiences shortly before the concealed lion pounces and feasts on flesh.
“Trees don’t eat little boys,” murmurs the frightened boy.
“Maybe so, yet that oak could hardly be classified in the same league as other trees,” responds his own treasonous thoughts.
The boy's mind splinters; warring factions jockeying for supremacy. Paranoia seizes him, inky black hands clawing the air out of his lungs. A young boy unaware of the inward mutiny happening amidst his own wits, completely left to his own demented imagination. Yet, the stakes of this adventure are a great deal higher than any he has yet to experience.
His mother was fond of telling him, “What you think, you become.”
A truly awful thought slinks into his mind unbidden. What if the stories his mind conjures could gain reality too? The thought overwhelms the boy. His eyes shift back and forth searching for threats. Jimmy’s senses are keen to his surroundings. Every twig snapping, a creature stalking. Every bush rustling, a hungry beast ready to devour. Yet, the petty fears of a child's tormented mind pales to the unearthly wrongness of the hanging tree.
“What if mom is right?” says the concerned boy to the emptiness. At this unwelcome thought the boy slams his eyes closed in a futile attempt to banish the horrific idea.
“The hanging tree isn’t real,” says Jimmy, knowing in his heart this isn’t true. In the back of his mind, the boy is certain that the moment he opens his eyes, he will see it. He will see the strands of rope dangling from the gnarled branches. He will smell the smell of decaying bodies. He will hear the creak of rope swaying gently in the cool breeze.
The boy doubles his efforts in a vain attempt to keep his eyes closed. He sees red due to the strain he is putting on his muscles. He hears the steady pulse of his blood rushing in his head. The boy also understands that all this effort is for naught. He must open his eyes at some point. Jealousy creeps into the boy’s heart. Envy for the man born without sight. For the boy understands the moment he sees, there will be no coming back.
The moment has come.
Jimmy can no longer keep his eyes shut. Seconds before his eyes fling open, he feels the gentle touch of someone's hand on his shoulder. This touch startles him, and the boy throws wide his eyes.
Sure enough a few hundred yards in front of him, stands the abomination. A lone tree on the top of a bald, scarred hill. Not a living thing to be seen. No vegetation growing on the hill, no squirrels scuttling about, just a great oak, standing; an obscene gesture to the god of this world. The only fruit of this tree the decaying flesh of dead men, and likewise, the only cup the curdled blood of those hanging. A final meal set for the boy, an unholy communion.
The hand, whose was it? Was it even human? The little boy left visibly shaking at the touch of the unknown. Is this death? The icy grip of the Reaper himself here to harvest with his scythe. No marriage, no children, not knowing the pleasures of true friendship. Life cut short, a lamentable state of affairs.
It was in this line of thought, where true courage was mustered. A strength measured not by the size of his muscles or the amount one could lift, but the more impressive type, the type quantified in the amount of shit one can wade. Identified in the amount of crap hands dealt without bowing out altogether. Young Jimmy Hanson did the unthinkable, he turned and faced death looking it in the eyes.
Eyes, yes, but death perhaps not. It was no titan of horror, nor was it the poster child of demented evil. Child it was, but this boy was familiar. Not anyone from his class, yet he knew the boy. In a moment of clarity, he recognized him. It was the missing kid, Jack Dunkin.
He looked identical to the poster on the side of Debbie’s Diner. He wore the same black and white Van’s tee shirt, ripped blue jeans, and some tattered Nike tennis shoes. The thoroughly terrified Jimmy stood staring at the missing boy, mouth ajar.
Jack with an easy-going grin plastered on his face, said, “It's about time, someone comes looking for me. I've been waiting for you Jimmy, far too long.”
With an audible click the boy shut his gaping mouth and responded, “Ja- Jack, you've been missing for nearly three months. Have you been out here all along? Are you alone? Are you hurt?” Jimmy fired these questions in rapid succession, growing more suspicious with each word.
“I’ve been right here, waiting for you to come and play with me. You see, I am like you. I never had anyone to play with either. Now you are here, and you must stay with me,” said the bigger boy with a smile on his face.
Jimmy’s mind quieted, for the first time in his life he saw himself clearly. A boy with no friends, no father, hardly a mother, bullied every day, and no way of escape. Clarity revealed the harsh truth. A day had not gone by that he wasn’t lonely. There was no one in his life. There was no life for him.
The undersized boy looked at the other with longing in his eyes. He thirsted for a friend, like a man lost at sea. He hungered for companionship, like a man stuck in the wilderness. It wasn’t just a desire; he was desperate for a friend. If the bigger boy would leave, Jimmy felt as if his soul would tear in half. His heart would shatter into a thousand pieces unable to be put back together. The boys' eyes were a mirror reflecting the same sad truth, they understood each other. Both had lived, and neither had anyone to share it with.
The boys bound by shared hardships grasped onto each other refusing to let go. The combined burden of loneliness lessened by two backs, instead of one.
With few words exchanged, the two of them created soul ties. Not the ties of lovers, but of lifelong friends. The type one dies for. The rare type of friendship that most people never form in their entire life. It was rich. It was wholesome. Jimmy felt as if his life was complete. The one thing he always desired truly fulfilled.
Jack grabbed the smaller boy’s hand and guided him towards the tree.
Jimmy, not wanting to get anywhere near that monstrosity, tried to pull back.
“Don’t worry. The tree is a good place. It will take us to a new land filled with boys and girls just like you and I. No David’s or bullies like him,” said a smiling Jack.
“How did you know about David? You’ve been missing all this time,” said a concerned looking Jimmy.
“Jimmy, I hear whispers. My friends tell me things. They will tell you secrets too. If you want to be friends with me, that is.” The bigger boy looked down at his ragged shoes. He looked so pitiful and Jimmy was so starved for companionship, how could he not follow the boy.
Jack led the two of them to the scarred trunk of the tree. Here he let go of Jimmy’s hand, telling the boy, “Do exactly what I do.”
Jimmy’s fear bottled up deep in his guts. He felt as if he was going to explode. The tree was sinister and twisted. Evil through and through. Yet, the little boy had never had a friend. He was not willing to throw that away so easily.
Jack walked to the lowest hanging branch. He reached up and grabbed one of the dangling nooses. He wrapped it around his neck and looked at Jimmy. “Don’t worry, no pain is felt. The hanging tree is magic. You’ll close your eyes on this world, and wake up in a better place with me and all of my friends,” said a smiling Jack.
“Ja-Jack, I don’t think I can do this. It seems dangerous. I need to go back home soon. My mom will be waiting for me,” said a terrified Jimmy.
A heartbroken Jack looked at the smaller boy and said, “Jimmy, I can’t believe you would lie to me. Your mom isn’t home and she wouldn’t even notice that you are missing. Come with me. I am the only one who cares for you.”
Tears streaming down the smaller boy’s face, he responded, “Please don’t make me do it! This place frightens me. Can’t you just come home with me?”
“No! This world despises people like you and me. We weren’t made for it. We were made for the hanging tree. This is where you belong,” snarled the bigger boy.
Jimmy, eyes still running, reached with trembling hands for the dangling noose. He seized it. With one final glance at his friend, the little boy placed the loop around his neck. Immediately the noose drew tight. It felt as if the tree was hauling him up by it. The boy kicked and squirmed. Trying to shout for help, but his airflow was cut off. He managed to make a choking noise, then with one final twitch all was still. Still as the glassy surface of a lake on a spring day.
Little Jimmy Hanson had finally made a friend.
The two boys remained dangling together, gently swaying in the stale autumn breeze.

Look—I love Ryan, I do, but when I get out of this hospital, I'm gonna kill him.
One month ago, my old backpacking group decided to get back together for a trek. Our group of four, consisting of myself, Ryan, Ivan, and Mason, have been going on hikes together since we were in middle school. We've been a close knit crew for over a decade, but after graduating college, our busy schedules made it difficult for us to get everyone together. When Ryan reached out to the rest of us with a route near Oregon's Willamette National Forest, I was thrilled. Ivan, Mason, and I agreed, and the four of us geared up for a trek through a lesser-traveler portion of the wilderness area, which Ryan referred to as "Epiphany Canyon."
Here's the real kicker in all of this—Ryan never even showed up. He canceled on us last minute, leaving the rest of us out to dry thanks to some work thing. I tried asking Mason about it since the two of them worked at the same lab, but he didn't seem to know any more than I did. We were naturally a little annoyed, but we'd already prepared for the seven-day trek, and so we decided to just go without Ryan. Ivan, Mason and I met up in Salem as we'd planned, and after a few hours of suffering through Mason's country music playlist, we made it to Epiphany Canyon's unmarked trailhead.
ONE
The first day of travel went without a hitch. My friends were good company, and I was happy to have nothing to do but walk, take photos, and shoot the shit with the two of them. The only indication I had that something was faintly off was the frequency with which we encountered trail cameras. The first one I spotted was so well disguised that I thought it was lichen. When I realized what it was, I brought it up with Ivan and Mason immediately. Trail cams, in my experience, often indicated conservation areas or hunting grounds, and I wasn't in the mood to get arrested for trespassing or to get shot. Mason assured me that the trail was safe.
"Ryan said that he just did this trail a few weeks ago—I'm sure he'd have mentioned hunters. Let's just stick to his path."
I let it go, but every time I saw a trail cam after that, I couldn't help but look over my shoulder and scan the treeline for the glint of a barrel.
TWO
In the early morning of our second day on the trail, before the others woke up, I stole away from camp for a while. Alone with my camera, I wandered around until I stumbled upon a small clearing. I looked down at the forest floor, hoping for some interesting flora, and saw a large, brown mantis making its way across the ground, marching forward with all the certainty of time itself. When I crouched down to take a picture, it walked fearlessly right across my hiking boot. Amused, I readied my camera, framed the mantis, and …
Snap.
The sound filled the clearing, but I hadn't depressed the shutter button yet. I lowered the camera and turned my head towards the source of the sound, expecting a deer. Instead, I saw a person disappear behind a large fir at the end of the clearing. I had caught such a brief glimpse that I wasn't even sure if I'd seen a man or a woman. Startled, I rose to my feet, taking care not to step on the praying mantis.
"Hello?" I called out. The person, whoever they were, didn't answer. That is, if I had actually seen someone in the first place. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. I hoped that it was, because the alternative was a suspicious, potentially-ill intentioned person out on the trail with us. I waited for a minute, but when I didn't hear or see anything else, I made my way back to camp.
It was warmer than the forecasts had promised. The tree canopy helped some, but by late afternoon our trio was exhausted, sweat-drenched, and irritable. At two o'clock, we heard the running water, and after a small detour, we found a thin stream that wasn't pictured on our maps. We decided to see where it led, agreeing that if we ever began to stray too far from Ryan's trail, we would return to our charted course.
Luckily, the stream kept more or less parallel with Epiphany Trail, and we followed it for the better part of two hours. It slowly grew larger, connecting with another unmarked stream before culminating in a waterfall, about three meters tall with a wide plunge-pool at the bottom. We hiked our way down to the bottom of the falls, where a newly installed signpost had been hammered into the banks. "Gordian Falls", read the signpost, which notably lacked any warnings to stay out of the water. Ivan was quick to strip off his outer layers and charge into the pool.
Mason stayed out, opting to take a walk around the area instead of a swim, but I soon joined Ivan in the water. It was surprisingly warm, almost off-puttingly so, yet not quite hot enough to make me think we'd stumbled into a natural hot spring. After ensuring the pool was deep enough, Ivan suggested diving from the stone overhang at the top of the falls. He began to climb up the side of the waterfall, and I would have happily followed had I not suddenly become aware of a stinging sensation in my foot.
I limped out of the water to check if I'd kicked something sharp, and sure enough, there was a cut on the sole of my foot. While annoying, it was small and didn't bleed much, so I patched myself up quickly. I didn't rejoin Ivan in the water though, not wanting to risk infection. Instead, after warning him to watch out for rocks, I found a spot in the shade to sit and rest as I waited for him to get out.
The next thing I knew, although I didn't even remember closing my eyes, I woke up under a dark sky. I sat up quickly and checked my watch, which read 9:30 P.M. Had I really slept for five hours straight? Why hadn't the others woken me up?
Mason was sitting beside me, staring at the waterfall. I reached out and gave him a shove, not bothering to hide my annoyance as I questioned him.
"What the hell, man; are you two braindead? Why'd you let me sleep for so damn long?"
Mason looked at me briefly, then redirected his gaze towards Gordian Falls. I followed his eyes and was shocked to see Ivan still in the water, floating on his back. For a second I thought he was sleeping, but then he splashed the water gently, propelling his body back towards the center of the plunge pool.
"He hasn't been in there this whole time, has he?" I asked.
"He's come out a few times, but for the most part, yeah."
As if he heard us talking about him, Ivan suddenly flipped onto his stomach and swam towards the banks. When he saw us, he got out and staggered over, smacking the side of his head to get water out of his ear as he did.
"You good?" I asked him, and he gave me a strange look, part grimace and part glare, before shrugging.
"Kinda … dizzy. Must've caught too much sun today."
And with that, he dried off and crawled into one of three tents that Mason must've set up for us while I was sleeping. Despite having slept for hours, I too was ready for bed. I figured that Ivan and I had both caught heat exhaustion, which would explain his dizziness and my fatigue. I bade goodnight to Mason as I clambered into my tent and fell asleep once more.
THREE
On the third day of our trek, I woke up with a pain in my foot, but not where I'd cut myself. There was a tenderness in my ankle, more akin to a bruise than a cut. Somehow, it felt like the pain was behind my bone. I unwrapped my foot to change the bandaging, but the cut looked like it was healing well—no pus, fresh blood, or discoloration. There were, however, some signs of inflammation where my leg met my foot. One of the thin veins near my ankle bone looked darker than normal. I changed my bandage, resolving to keep an eye on it and alert my friends if it got worse. Aside from that, it was a normal, pleasant day.
FOUR
It was a sweltering day. When I crawled out of my tent in the morning, Mason and Ivan were already tearing down their tents, and they were doing so with an uncharacteristic taciturnity. Once I packed up, I took a look at Ryan's map. We were behind schedule, but not by much. I looked up, about to air my suggestions for how best to make up for lost time, when something in the distance caught my eye. In the direction we came, standing atop one of the lower ridges of the mountains that framed Epiphany Canyon, was a person. They were so far away that it was difficult to make out any detail, but this time, unlike the stranger in the clearing, I could tell that this person was a man. I could also tell, rather disturbingly, that he was making no visible attempt at ascending or descending the ridge. He was standing completely still, and I was fairly sure that he was staring in our direction.
The sight of that distant figure filled me with dread. Though he wasn't doing anything obviously sinister, I suspected that he was the same person who had hidden from me in the clearing. If that was true, then my group was being followed. Between him, my foot, and my companions' strange demeanors, I was close to calling it quits and turning around right then and there. But then again, turning around at that point in the trek meant crossing paths with the stranger, which at that point seemed like a bad idea.
I stuffed the map into my pocket and summoned Ivan and Mason for a debrief, explaining my suspicions to them. I suggested that we continue our trek as quickly as possible and start sleeping in shifts during the night, ensuring someone was always awake to alert the group of
unwanted visitors. Though both had been oddly quiet all morning, they seemed to take my words seriously, agreeing to stay vigilant. We finished packing quickly and left the area soon after.
The remainder of the day was productive—we covered enough ground to make up for Day 2, and the sights were the best I'd seen so far. Ivan hung behind Mason and I for most of the day, though he shook his head every time we asked him if something was wrong. When we set up camp that night, he immediately went to sleep, not cracking open a single can of beer with Mason and me.
"I can excuse him spacing out, but Ivan not drinking? He must've hit his head jumping into the falls."
Mason laughed in response to my assertion, though his expression was one of concern.
"Let's keep an eye on him," he said, and I agreed.
Only now as I reflect on our trek do I realize that, despite their prevalence in the surrounding wilderness, I didn't hear a single cricket that night.
FIVE - DAY
It was another brutally hot day, and I couldn't help but fixate on how strange the weather was. Not only had the forecasts promised cooler temperatures, but the bounty of shade from the trees and rocky walls of the canyon seemed to do nothing to combat the heat. Ivan appeared to be the most affected by the heat. He barely spoke, he seemed incapable of walking in a straight line, and he couldn't stop fidgeting. He rubbed at his eyes incessantly and when I suggested he keep his nasty, dirt-stained hands off of his face, he glared at me like I'd cursed his entire family. Mason seemed better off, but he too was more reserved than I'd ever seen him. At a certain point, I'd had enough of their bizarre behavior. I came to a stop a few feet in front of my friends and turned around to face them.
"What's going on with you two?"
It was early evening. The trees had thinned around us, and the narrow trail had opened up into a wide, dry path. To our left, in the distance, was a small, filthy-looking lake. It certainly wasn't the most scenic backdrop for a discussion, but I didn't want to put it off any longer. Mason shifted uncomfortably, looking down at the floor. Ivan, on the other hand, planted his feet firmly on the ground and glowered, visibly tensed. He looked like he was gearing up for a fight.
"What are you … talking about?" He said, pausing in the middle of his sentence as though the simple act of speaking was onerous to him.
"I'm talking about that. The way you're speaking, the way you're walking around like you're drunk. You've just been off since the falls. If you hit your head or snorted a brain eating amoeba then you should've let me know."
I looked at Mason, who'd always been the most level-headed of my friends, in the hopes that he'd come clean and tell me what I'd missed. Instead, I found him still staring at the ground, his eyes wide. I followed his gaze to the forest floor, and what I saw made my jaw drop.
The dirt path was covered in praying mantises. Hundreds of them spilled from the woods, varied in color and size, but all marching in the same direction. For a moment, I thought that the horde was coming for my friends and me, but they didn't pay us any mind. Instead, the mantises crossed the path, continuing towards the stagnant, murky waters of the lake on the other side. Transfixed, I stood very still, knowing that one wrong step could easily crush ten of them. Only once the last insect crossed the path did I dare to move again. I looked at my friends, who looked similarly confused, and then sighed in defeat.
"Let's just go," I said, heading down the path once more. Something told me I needed to get away from that area as soon as I could.
The rest of the afternoon passed in tortuous silence, which I took to mean that my hiking buddies were as keen to get home as I was. We set up camp only once we were too exhausted to take another step. Ivan clambered into his tent without agreeing to a shift, so Mason and I figured we'd be on our own for the night. He agreed to take first watch, which I greatly appreciated.
Before I tucked into my sleeping bag for the night, I took some time to examine my leg. One of the veins in my lower leg had become dark and swollen—"varicosed", I think is the right term for it. I ran a finger over the protruding vein, and then, for some reason, my calf twitched in response. I yanked my hand back in surprise. It was probably a simple muscle contraction, caused by a combination of dehydration and overexertion. I left it alone after that. Somehow, after an hour of tossing and turning, I fell into an uneasy sleep.
FIVE - NIGHT
When I startled awake in the middle of the night, my clothes were soaked through with sweat. My skin felt like a heated blanket; I was half surprised there wasn't steam radiating off of me. Desperate to cool off, I wormed my way out of my sleeping bag and unzipped my tent, stepping out into the night and bumping right into Ivan, who was standing outside in nothing but his boxers. He looked as terrible as I felt—matted hair stuck to his face and his skin so mottled it looked like there was lace under his skin. Worst of all was his left eye, which looked as though it were bulging from its socket.
I'm guessing I wasn't faring much better, because after staring at me for a minute, Ivan reached out his arm and placed it on my shoulder. He gave me what I think was supposed to be a reassuring look, and then abruptly turned around, walking away from camp. Once he'd gotten a few steps away, he turned to look at me, and I got the impression I was supposed to follow.
Quickly, I slipped into my hiking boots and fell into step behind my friend as he ambled deeper into the trees. We spent about five minutes getting further away from camp before I came to my senses enough to ask where we were going. He didn't answer. In fact, Ivan never said anything ever again.
After another few minutes, we came upon another waterfall. This one was slightly larger than Gordian Falls, but it looked strangely similar to the one that we had waded into just days prior. The plunge pool had the same shape, as did the rocky overhang at the crest. Aside from a slight difference in size, they were more or less identical, which I suspected meant one or both were artificially constructed.
It was this realization that shook me from my stupor. I came to a stop, but Ivan kept walking towards the water.
"Ivan, c'mon. Let's just go back to camp." My appeal fell on deaf ears. He trudged his way forward, his ankles disappearing beneath the dark water, then his legs, then his torso. Finally, he was completely submerged.
Reluctantly, I inched towards the waterline. A pit formed in my stomach, growing in intensity with every second Ivan remained beneath the water. The seconds ticked by, and once several minutes had passed and he showed no indication of coming up for air, I was faced with an awful decision: should I go in after him?
As it turned out, something else made that decision for me.
Something surfaced. It was Ivan, or at least Ivan's body. He was face up, his expression contorted in agony. His mouth was open in a silent scream, his cheeks marred with angry, red scratches from where he'd clawed at his skin. As I watched in horror, his eye, the one he'd been worrying all day, bulged until it was pushed clean out of his head. It dangled against the side of his face, held in place by his optic nerve, as a worm as thick as my pointer finger burst out of the bloody socket. It thrashed violently, its tan body curling and uncurling around itself. I didn't wait to see what it would do or try to take a closer look. I bolted from the falls as fast as I could, the image of my dead friend's mangled face permanently seared into my mind.
There was only one thought in my head as I half-ran, half-hopped back to camp:
That's not a vein in my leg.
Mason was sleeping in his tent when I got back to camp, but I amended that quickly—charging in so fast I uprooted one of the tentpoles. I shook him awake as I calmly and eloquently explained the situation to him:
"Mason! Ivan is—Jesus Christ—the water, worms crawling out his eyes—Fuck! We gotta get outta here, like right fucking now!"
Mason squinted up at me.
"Ivan is … Jesus Christ?"
It took me about three more attempts to explain what was happening, but after his initial confusion, Mason seemed to believe me, especially after I showed him my leg. After learning what it was, I swore I could feel it squirming around under my skin. I tried desperately not to think about it as we shoved only the essentials into our packs and prepared to burn through the rest of the trek as quickly as we could.
SIX - DAY
For a while, we made good time. Even though my leg wasn't exactly cooperating, I was motivated by the notion that we were so close to civilization, only a day at most and less if we hauled ass. We had no cell service and had lacked the foresight to bring satellite messengers, but every time we stopped to catch our breaths, I pulled out my phone to check for a signal to no avail. The whole canyon seemed to be a dead zone—yet another thing Ryan neglected to mention about the trail.
I couldn't stop thinking about Ivan, about what he had felt in those final moments. He and I must've obtained the same parasite, though it seemed like he'd gotten unlucky; Ivan's had wormed its way into his head, maybe through an ear canal or nasal passage, whereas mine had entered through the cut in my foot. Clearly, the fact that the thing was in my leg and not my head was sparing me from whatever psychological breakdown had caused Ivan to drown himself, but for how long? Would my parasite rip its way through my insides until it had reached my brain? Would I meet the same fate as Ivan if I didn't get the thing out as quickly as possible?
SIX - EVENING
Every ten minutes or so, I stopped to look at my leg. Although I knew the frequency of my check-ins were slowing us down, I couldn't help but fixate on it. The worm grew longer and thicker at an impossible rate—every time I worked up the courage to glance down, it had grown darker, more pronounced. It hurt, but not nearly as much as I expected it to, which made me wonder if the thing was releasing some kind of numbing agent.
By dusk, it had migrated upwards. One of its ends sat just below my hip bone and the rest of its body had twisted like a spiral staircase around my leg. I considered tying one of our bungee cords around my thigh to deter the worm from moving any closer to my torso, but I doubted I could tie it tight enough, and I was concerned about cutting off my circulation for an extended time period.
I knew what I had to do.
The next time we stopped, I approached my friend.
"Mason," I began. "I think we've … just gotta cut it out."
I was fully prepared to offer more justification, but to my surprise, Mason agreed immediately. We found somewhere to sit and I pulled the first aid kit out of my bag with shaking hands. The worm looked like it was right under my skin. As long as Mason was careful, he probably wouldn't even have to cut that deep—just a little nick and then he or I could grab the worm and pull it out. Easy enough, right?
Mason brought the knife to my leg, and it occurred to me that I was putting my life in the hands of a man who had once gotten so drunk that he'd brought a raccoon into our apartment thinking it was his pet cat. He poised the blade parallel to my shin and asked me if I was ready. Can one ever truly be ready to get a parasite pulled out of their leg in the middle of the woods? I didn't think so, but I said yes anyway.
I'll never forget the feeling of that knife jamming into my calf. The blade was sharp and my adrenaline helped to numb me somewhat, but it was still, undoubtedly, the most painful thing I'd ever felt in my life. It didn't help that Mason was more heavy handed than I expected, cutting much deeper than he needed to. After making an incision, he pulled his hand away, and I saw the worm clearly—it was identical to the tan, tube-shaped creature that had erupted from Ivan's eye socket. It writhed against exposed tissue, trying to evade capture. Mason's arm lashed out, his fingers digging into the deep laceration and curling around the worm. It slipped out of his grasp. Twice more he repeated that process—trying and failing to pinch the slimy, wriggling creature as it burrowed its way deeper into my leg. Remember when I said the cut was the most painful thing I'd ever experienced? I definitely lied, because having someone digging around inside of a fresh wound is ten times worse.
Thankfully, I must've briefly passed out from the pain. When I came to, Mason had finally caught the thing and had almost finished pulling it out of my leg. The worm was unfathomably long, probably over a meter once it was straightened out. Mason yanked the last few inches out of my mangled leg, relieving me of a pressure I hadn't even realized had begun to build around my femur. Relief washed over me, but so too did disgust. I tore my eyes away from the worm to look down at my leg, and the sight of the wound made me gag. I was losing a hell of a lot of blood.
"The gauze," I said to Mason. "Pass me the gauze."
He didn't move. I looked up to find him still holding the worm in his hand. It was no longer thrashing around—one end of its tube-shaped body wrapped around his wrist and the other end hovered in the air a few inches from his face. For no reason at all, the thing had suddenly adopted all the docility of a pet corn snake.
"Dude, put that fucking thing down," I said. Mason said nothing for a moment, and then uttered a single word:
"Lost."
I thought I'd misheard him.
"What?"
My vision was starting to go hazy. Black dots appeared in my periphery, and I realized that I had severely overestimated my ability to bounce back from my impromptu de-worming. Mason crouched down next to me, smiling. With my blurry vision, his face looked distorted, like someone had taken a smudge tool to his features.
"This one got lost."
He reached his arm out towards me, bringing his hand so close that I could see the flecks of gore under his fingernails. The worm slithered down his arm towards me, its tan body stained maroon with my blood. Knowing I wouldn't be able to stand, I tried to crawl away on my hands and feet, but I was weak and sluggish, and Mason easily yanked my head back towards the worm by my hair.
"Let's try this again."
The worm lunged towards me, sliding against my cheek as it made its way towards the side of my head. Just before its tapered head plunged into my ear canal, a BANG! tore through the woods.
I felt Mason's hand release my hair and I instantly swatted the worm off of my face. I watched my friend's body collapse onto the ground as I scrambled backwards, putting some distance between myself and the parasite. A man, decked out head to toe in hunting camo and gripping a rifle, came barrelling into my view. I was fading fast from blood loss, but I raised my hands and told him not to shoot. He didn't seem all that interested in me though—hurrying past me towards where the meter-long worm lay thrashing on the ground.
The last thing I saw before I blacked out again was the man repeatedly smashing the sole of his boot against the worm until all that remained on the dirt path was a puddle of blood.
SEVEN?
When I woke up, my first thought was that I was in the backseat of my sister's car. The gentle undulations I felt told me I was in a moving vehicle, and the pop-rock on the radio sounded just like something she would torment me with on a family road trip. When I sat up, and peered into the rear view mirror however, the face that stared back at me was that of an older man.
"Ah, g'mornin'." The man said, though it was still dark outside. "You have good timing; we're almost to the hospital."
The lights outside the car window confirmed that we were back in the city.
"Uh … thanks for the lift?"
"Don't mention it."
I looked down at my leg, which was now wrapped snugly in white bandages. I had a litany of questions for that stranger, probably longer than we had time for if we were nearing the end of our drive, but I started with:
"Mason, my friend back there, I assume he didn't make it?"
"Kid, what the hell do you think?"
"Oh god … What am I gonna tell his family? And Ivan's family, too. We had another guy with us, but he—well, you're not gonna believe me, but he got this parasite from a place called—"
"Gordian Falls?"
"Yeah …" So he knew about the falls, and he seemed to know about the worm as well. A thought occurred to me. "Back on the trail, there was someone following us. Was that you? Were you the person I saw in the clearing?"
"Yep."
"Why were you following us?"
The man laughed. "'Cause I'm a conservationist."
"And you're conserving … what exactly?"
"Humans."
"I don't get it."
The man sighed, going quiet for a minute as he seemed to consider his next words.
"There's some evil shit going on in that area. I'm not sure how you and your friends found the place, but there are forces at play in that wilderness more malignant and powerful than you know." He caught my eye in the rear view mirror and gave me an appraising look. "You seem skeptical. Tell you what—when the police come to ask you about your missing friends, you tell them exactly what happened. You tell them about the cameras, the mantises, the falls, and the worms. They'll smile and tell you they're on the case, and then you'll never hear from them again. No one will find your friends' bodies, no one will bother to look. They'll tell everyone it was a bear attack, and you'll never hear or see a thing about Epiphany Canyon."
The car pulled into a kind of drop-off area. We were still somewhat far away from the entrance doors, but close enough that I could catch the attention of the people milling around outside for help.
"Well look at that—here already." The man put the car in park, though he didn't turn off the engine. He turned around to look at me, and I was surprised to see that he looked even older than I thought. "Now you just hobble your way up the drive a little and flag someone down. They'll get you a wheelchair and have that leg fixed up—or amputated—in no time."
"But I still have so many que—"
"Get out of my car," he said, firmly but not unkindly. The pain in my leg outweighed my curiosity, and so I obliged, carefully getting out onto the curb. Once I closed the door to the cabin, the man rolled down his passenger's side window and called out to me.
"Hey, kid." He said. "You ever heard of a horsehair worm?"
I shook my head.
"Parasitic worm. Lay their eggs in water, wait for insects to eat 'em before hatching inside their hosts' guts—typical parasite stuff. But what's unusual about 'em is what they do to their hosts when they're ready to leave. They take full control of their hosts, even going as far as to keep the crickets from singing so that they don't get eaten by another predator with the parasite still inside them. When the time comes 'round, they send whatever poor insect they've hijacked towards a body of water, forcing the host to drown itself. Then, the worm burrows out of a hole in the insect's exoskeleton to find a mate and continue its life cycle."
In the distance, near the front doors of the hospital, a staff member seemed to take note of the car. He gave me a tentative wave, then began walking in our direction.
"Insects are pretty simple machines—doesn't take much to puppeteer them. But what if they could take over somethin' bigger? Somethin' more … complex. Imagine the applications of a creature like that. Of somethin' so small, so difficult to detect, yet powerful enough to control the will of a human being. Imagine what, for example, our government could do with a weapon like that. Makes you wonder, don't it?"
The staff member, only a few meters away, called out, asking if we needed help. The man looked between him and I, then gave me a grin.
"Well, guess that's my cue." He said, putting the car back into drive and making a sharp U-turn. Over the squeal of his tires against the asphalt as he floored it out of the driveway, I heard him calling out, "take care of yourself, kid!" I noticed, as he drove away, that there were no license plates on his car.
After that, a few staff members helped me get situated inside. I was able to speak to a police officer about the incident, and though he was understandably incredulous about my worm story, he said he'd escalate the issue. We'll see how it goes. With two people dead, I'll be surprised if I don't get more officers wanting to speak with me.
It seems like the doctors will be able to save my leg, though it might be a while before I can walk normally again. I owe everything to the strange man from the canyon, not just my leg but my life. Of course, there's a good chance he's just some crazed conspiracy theorist, but so much of what he told me aligns with what I experienced in Epiphany Canyon.
I have some theories of my own, of course, but I'll have to update this post later to discuss them further. One of my nurses just came in to inform me that I have a visitor.
Let's see what Ryan has to say.

The sun rose over the bustling city of New Shanghai, lighting the towering glass and metal skyscrapers that housed millions. Jake sipped his coffee as he stepped onto the maglev train, joining the stream of commuters heading into work. But for Jake, it was another day off to his workshop to tinker. As his stop approached, he gazed out at the lush parks and water features flowing between the buildings, shining in the morning light. This was the life he and billions others had built across dozens of colony worlds - a life of peace and prosperity.
Stepping off the train, Jake strolled the 20 minutes to his workshop, passing through a vibrant outdoor market. Floating drones maneuvered between the stalls, transporting goods while vendors called out their wares. As always, the latest technologies mingled with timeless arts - people browsing holographic displays and tasting fresh fruits from a dozen worlds. Jake smiled, thinking of the advances they had achieved in just a century since humanity's expansion beyond Earth first began.
Once in his workshop, Jake pulled up the latest sensor readings from his asteroid mining operations. Along with billions of other small entrepreneurs, he operated automated fleets that harvested resources from beyond the system. Lately, returns had slowed from the frontier worlds. He wrote it off as business cycles, but a small knot of unease grew in his stomach.
That evening, at home in his apartment, those worries resurfaced as the news broke - reports of attacks in the Athabasca and Tripoli clusters, dozens of lightyears from New Shanghai. Entire colonies wiped out overnight. Survivors told of relentless bombing, cities reduced to rubble. No warnings, no negotiations - just annihilation. Video footage showed alien vessels, unlike any recorded.
In the following days, a somber mood fell over the colonies as more reports came in. Entire prefectures along the frontier gone silent. Hundreds of millions dead or missing. The Union Council called an emergency session. In the public forum, speakers urged calm but voiced new fears - had their peaceful expansion finally encountered a hostile power?
Two weeks later, the first refugees began arriving. Jake volunteered at the transit hub, helping families still in shock. One woman, holding a bundled infant, recounted watching meteors rain down on her small town. "They herded the survivors into camps," she said numbly. "We heard screams at night."
With each new group, Jake pieced together a clearer picture of their attackers. Methodical. Merciless. Calling themselves the Rasnar. Their ships descended like death, then vanished without a trace. Even the military was caught off guard. Their colonies had always enjoyed perfect security, but long brutal Jake redoubled his efforts collecting supplies for the refugees. But another thought nagged at him. He diverted one of his mining ships, rerouting it out towards the frontier clusters under the pretense of salvage. If the Rasnar truly threatened them all, he had to see for himself. Two weeks later, his ship sent back chilling footage - entire planets bombed back to the stone age, wrecked cities prowled by alien patrols.
As Jake studied the footage, a startling realization emerged. The Rasnar were not just invaders - they had come to erase humanity from the stars.
The attacks shocked humanity to its core. Overnight, colony worlds that had flourished for generations were silenced. Millions lay dead, with more still unaccounted for. Across the Union of Earth, people gathered in streets and public forums, weeping as reports emerged of the atrocities committed by the Rasnars.
In the halls of government, an emergency session was underway. Jake Sato joined a massive crowd that had gathered outside, hoping for answers. After several hours, the UE President appeared on a towering screen. "My fellow citizens, a grave threat has emerged beyond our borders. Alien aggressors calling themselves the Rasnars have launched unprovoked attacks against our colonies. Their actions have taken hundreds of millions of innocent lives."
A collective gasp rose from the crowd. The President continued, "Make no mistake, we did not seek this conflict. But we will ensure it ends here. I have authorized a full mobilization of our defense forces. More, we will take the fight to the Rasnars and liberate every world they have invaded. To the attackers, I say this - you have declared war on all of humanity. We will meet your cruelty with strength, your hatred with justice, your dark ambitions with the light of freedom."
Thunderous cheers drowned out the end of the speech. The crowd surged in emotion, crying out for vengeance. Hope and resolve now mingled with grief. Jake felt a steely determination take hold - he would do his part to help humanity prevail in this dark hour.
In the following weeks, the Union mobilized on a scale never seen. Shipyards and factories operated around the clock to supply fleets mustering at strategic points. Robotic labor handled much of the production, allowing volunteers to focus on rapid training and deployment of new defense forces. Engineers raced to upgrade existing warships with the latest stealth, sensor and weapons technology.
Entire cities were retooled for defense production. Market districts transformed overnight into aircraft construction zones. Multiply-redundant systems and strategic stockpiling ensured continued output even if enemy strikes managed to penetrate key systems. Trillions of resources were poured into the war effort from public and private sources alike.
Jake closed his workshop to enlist as a sensor technician aboard one of the first assault carriers. Undergoing accelerated training, he learned technical skills far beyond his engineer background. His assimilation was eased by a fierce devotion shared by all recruits - to wipe out this new terror stalking the colonies and ensure no others would follow in the Rasnars' path.
Initial probes detected massing Rasnar fleets along the borders of invaded space. UE command plotted maneuvers to bait isolated elements away from the main hosts. In a daring raid, Jake and his carrier group ambushed a Rasnar battle group scouting nearby systems. Overwhelming firepower reduced the alien ships to debris within minutes. But casualties were higher than expected - the Rasnars fought with a terrible ferocity.
Morale surged at the small victory. Across the frontier, more skirmishes turned the tide as humanity's superior numbers and coordination began to tell. Within weeks, major pushes reclaimed the closest colonies and drove deep into Rasnar space. But as they penetrated deeper, reconnaissance revealed the full extent of enemy mobilization. Trillions more as Rasnars swarmed whole worlds, dwarfing initial estimates. The road ahead would be long and punishing.
Jake's carrier was deployed with a massive fleet for the biggest operation yet - retaking the vital Epsilon Indi system. Intelligence warned the four colonized planets there had become fortressed staging areas. The upcoming battle would be humanity's first test of strength against the Rasnar's core forces. In the carrier's bustling CIC, crew hurried last-minute checks as the countdown to drop out of FTL began. Jake steeled himself, knowing the brutal fight to liberate Epsilon Indi had only just started.
The fleet emerged from hyperspace on the outskirts of the Epsilon Indi system. Ahead, the local star shined brightly as Jake's carrier and accompanying battle group approached the inner planets. According to scans, four inhabited worlds orbited within the comfortable zone.
But reconnaissance revealed the once verdant planets now teemed with enemy activity. Fortified shipyards in high orbit belched clouds of construction. Military emplacements dotted the surfaces, their cannons tracking any movement. Intelligence estimated over a billion Rasnars occupied the system, entrenching for a climactic stand.
Aboard the flagship, Admiral Lee addressed the fleet. "Our colonies were ruthlessly attacked, and billions remain enslaved. Today we liberate Epsilon Indi and push the aliens back on all fronts. Stealth and coordinated strikes will breach their defenses. Then our warriors will land to finish the job planetside. No mercy for these butchers! For our people - engage all!"
On Jake's carrier, crews rushed to space docks as the battle began. Cloaked assault wings accelerated hard, angling towards separate targets. Capital ships unleashed barrages of precision missiles to blind sensors before the first starfighters swooped in low. Nuclear warheads and relativistic kill vehicles pulverized orbital defenses.
Emerging from a blown hatch, Jake launched with his squadron. "Break right, focus fire bombers before they can lock on colonies." With practiced coordination, they wiped out enemy bomber wings trying to retreat to the planets. But swarming starfighters engaged them, lasers strobing in the black. Jake felt his shield drained before a wingmate finished off his tail.
As more allied ships arrived, the tide turned. Admiral Lee directed fleets to engage supercarriers and dredge the system. Jake smiled seeing shattered enemy ships float among the stars, their crews dead in the vacuum. But losses continued - for every Rasnar destroyed, five more seemed to appear. The fight to control orbital space dragged into a long, brutal slog.
Meanwhile, troop carriers accelerated towards the planets. Nuclear shaped charges breached thick atmospheres, unleashing megatons to wipe out entrenched positions. Wings of gunships deployed flechette missiles by the thousand, reducing fortresses to rubble. Allied boots hit the ground amid chaos and shattered remnants.
Over months, the liberation of Epsilon Indi dragged on. City by irradiated city, the Rasnars were pushed back into hastily-dug trench works. But they never broke, fighting to the last for every block and bunker. Allied troops suffered horribly even as air supremacy was achieved. But the tide was turning - civilians emerged from the ruins, cheering their soldiers on.
Finally, in a remote volcano complex, marines cornered the last Rasnar defenders. A desperate charge was met with withering fire, cutting them down by the dozens. Silence fell as smoke drifted through cracked tunnels. It was over - Epsilon Indi belonged to humanity once more.
Yet the cost weighed heavily. Hundreds of billions had died across the system. And from prison camps, intelligence alleged the majority of the Rasnar people remained untouched deep in their core worlds. Jake knew the coming battles would make Epsilon Indi seem a small victory. The war was only halfway done. And in the stars ahead, untold millions more would face judgment in the fires of freedom.

The sun rose over the bustling city of New Shanghai, lighting the towering glass and metal skyscrapers that housed millions. Jake sipped his coffee as he stepped onto the maglev train, joining the stream of commuters heading into work. But for Jake, it was another day off to his workshop to tinker. As his stop approached, he gazed out at the lush parks and water features flowing between the buildings, shining in the morning light. This was the life he and billions others had built across dozens of colony worlds - a life of peace and prosperity.
Stepping off the train, Jake strolled the 20 minutes to his workshop, passing through a vibrant outdoor market. Floating drones maneuvered between the stalls, transporting goods while vendors called out their wares. As always, the latest technologies mingled with timeless arts - people browsing holographic displays and tasting fresh fruits from a dozen worlds. Jake smiled, thinking of the advances they had achieved in just a century since humanity's expansion beyond Earth first began.
Once in his workshop, Jake pulled up the latest sensor readings from his asteroid mining operations. Along with billions of other small entrepreneurs, he operated automated fleets that harvested resources from beyond the system. Lately, returns had slowed from the frontier worlds. He wrote it off as business cycles, but a small knot of unease grew in his stomach.
That evening, at home in his apartment, those worries resurfaced as the news broke - reports of attacks in the Athabasca and Tripoli clusters, dozens of lightyears from New Shanghai. Entire colonies wiped out overnight. Survivors told of relentless bombing, cities reduced to rubble. No warnings, no negotiations - just annihilation. Video footage showed alien vessels, unlike any recorded.
In the following days, a somber mood fell over the colonies as more reports came in. Entire prefectures along the frontier gone silent. Hundreds of millions dead or missing. The Union Council called an emergency session. In the public forum, speakers urged calm but voiced new fears - had their peaceful expansion finally encountered a hostile power?
Two weeks later, the first refugees began arriving. Jake volunteered at the transit hub, helping families still in shock. One woman, holding a bundled infant, recounted watching meteors rain down on her small town. "They herded the survivors into camps," she said numbly. "We heard screams at night."
With each new group, Jake pieced together a clearer picture of their attackers. Methodical. Merciless. Calling themselves the Rasnar. Their ships descended like death, then vanished without a trace. Even the military was caught off guard. Their colonies had always enjoyed perfect security, but long brutal Jake redoubled his efforts collecting supplies for the refugees. But another thought nagged at him. He diverted one of his mining ships, rerouting it out towards the frontier clusters under the pretense of salvage. If the Rasnar truly threatened them all, he had to see for himself. Two weeks later, his ship sent back chilling footage - entire planets bombed back to the stone age, wrecked cities prowled by alien patrols.
As Jake studied the footage, a startling realization emerged. The Rasnar were not just invaders - they had come to erase humanity from the stars.
The attacks shocked humanity to its core. Overnight, colony worlds that had flourished for generations were silenced. Millions lay dead, with more still unaccounted for. Across the Union of Earth, people gathered in streets and public forums, weeping as reports emerged of the atrocities committed by the Rasnars.
In the halls of government, an emergency session was underway. Jake Sato joined a massive crowd that had gathered outside, hoping for answers. After several hours, the UE President appeared on a towering screen. "My fellow citizens, a grave threat has emerged beyond our borders. Alien aggressors calling themselves the Rasnars have launched unprovoked attacks against our colonies. Their actions have taken hundreds of millions of innocent lives."
A collective gasp rose from the crowd. The President continued, "Make no mistake, we did not seek this conflict. But we will ensure it ends here. I have authorized a full mobilization of our defense forces. More, we will take the fight to the Rasnars and liberate every world they have invaded. To the attackers, I say this - you have declared war on all of humanity. We will meet your cruelty with strength, your hatred with justice, your dark ambitions with the light of freedom."
Thunderous cheers drowned out the end of the speech. The crowd surged in emotion, crying out for vengeance. Hope and resolve now mingled with grief. Jake felt a steely determination take hold - he would do his part to help humanity prevail in this dark hour.
In the following weeks, the Union mobilized on a scale never seen. Shipyards and factories operated around the clock to supply fleets mustering at strategic points. Robotic labor handled much of the production, allowing volunteers to focus on rapid training and deployment of new defense forces. Engineers raced to upgrade existing warships with the latest stealth, sensor and weapons technology.
Entire cities were retooled for defense production. Market districts transformed overnight into aircraft construction zones. Multiply-redundant systems and strategic stockpiling ensured continued output even if enemy strikes managed to penetrate key systems. Trillions of resources were poured into the war effort from public and private sources alike.
Jake closed his workshop to enlist as a sensor technician aboard one of the first assault carriers. Undergoing accelerated training, he learned technical skills far beyond his engineer background. His assimilation was eased by a fierce devotion shared by all recruits - to wipe out this new terror stalking the colonies and ensure no others would follow in the Rasnars' path.
Initial probes detected massing Rasnar fleets along the borders of invaded space. UE command plotted maneuvers to bait isolated elements away from the main hosts. In a daring raid, Jake and his carrier group ambushed a Rasnar battle group scouting nearby systems. Overwhelming firepower reduced the alien ships to debris within minutes. But casualties were higher than expected - the Rasnars fought with a terrible ferocity.
Morale surged at the small victory. Across the frontier, more skirmishes turned the tide as humanity's superior numbers and coordination began to tell. Within weeks, major pushes reclaimed the closest colonies and drove deep into Rasnar space. But as they penetrated deeper, reconnaissance revealed the full extent of enemy mobilization. Trillions more as Rasnars swarmed whole worlds, dwarfing initial estimates. The road ahead would be long and punishing.
Jake's carrier was deployed with a massive fleet for the biggest operation yet - retaking the vital Epsilon Indi system. Intelligence warned the four colonized planets there had become fortressed staging areas. The upcoming battle would be humanity's first test of strength against the Rasnar's core forces. In the carrier's bustling CIC, crew hurried last-minute checks as the countdown to drop out of FTL began. Jake steeled himself, knowing the brutal fight to liberate Epsilon Indi had only just started.
The fleet emerged from hyperspace on the outskirts of the Epsilon Indi system. Ahead, the local star shined brightly as Jake's carrier and accompanying battle group approached the inner planets. According to scans, four inhabited worlds orbited within the comfortable zone.
But reconnaissance revealed the once verdant planets now teemed with enemy activity. Fortified shipyards in high orbit belched clouds of construction. Military emplacements dotted the surfaces, their cannons tracking any movement. Intelligence estimated over a billion Rasnars occupied the system, entrenching for a climactic stand.
Aboard the flagship, Admiral Lee addressed the fleet. "Our colonies were ruthlessly attacked, and billions remain enslaved. Today we liberate Epsilon Indi and push the aliens back on all fronts. Stealth and coordinated strikes will breach their defenses. Then our warriors will land to finish the job planetside. No mercy for these butchers! For our people - engage all!"
On Jake's carrier, crews rushed to space docks as the battle began. Cloaked assault wings accelerated hard, angling towards separate targets. Capital ships unleashed barrages of precision missiles to blind sensors before the first starfighters swooped in low. Nuclear warheads and relativistic kill vehicles pulverized orbital defenses.
Emerging from a blown hatch, Jake launched with his squadron. "Break right, focus fire bombers before they can lock on colonies." With practiced coordination, they wiped out enemy bomber wings trying to retreat to the planets. But swarming starfighters engaged them, lasers strobing in the black. Jake felt his shield drained before a wingmate finished off his tail.
As more allied ships arrived, the tide turned. Admiral Lee directed fleets to engage supercarriers and dredge the system. Jake smiled seeing shattered enemy ships float among the stars, their crews dead in the vacuum. But losses continued - for every Rasnar destroyed, five more seemed to appear. The fight to control orbital space dragged into a long, brutal slog.
Meanwhile, troop carriers accelerated towards the planets. Nuclear shaped charges breached thick atmospheres, unleashing megatons to wipe out entrenched positions. Wings of gunships deployed flechette missiles by the thousand, reducing fortresses to rubble. Allied boots hit the ground amid chaos and shattered remnants.
Over months, the liberation of Epsilon Indi dragged on. City by irradiated city, the Rasnars were pushed back into hastily-dug trench works. But they never broke, fighting to the last for every block and bunker. Allied troops suffered horribly even as air supremacy was achieved. But the tide was turning - civilians emerged from the ruins, cheering their soldiers on.
Finally, in a remote volcano complex, marines cornered the last Rasnar defenders. A desperate charge was met with withering fire, cutting them down by the dozens. Silence fell as smoke drifted through cracked tunnels. It was over - Epsilon Indi belonged to humanity once more.
Yet the cost weighed heavily. Hundreds of billions had died across the system. And from prison camps, intelligence alleged the majority of the Rasnar people remained untouched deep in their core worlds. Jake knew the coming battles would make Epsilon Indi seem a small victory. The war was only halfway done. And in the stars ahead, untold millions more would face judgment in the fires of freedom.

This is part of a collection of notes I have made so far. Thanks to SirPavlova for insightful contributions. Comment-exclusive material is marked with spoilers, which will be my policy as the author may choose to decanonize anything said only in comments. ([MAIN DIRECTORY]: [1 taint dragons], [2 nulls souls], [3 academy Vanavan], [4a gadgets humans], [4b EVI], [5a library rules], [5b evil library], [7a Nexus glossary], [7b Nexus detail], [7c Nexus-earth war], [8a magic catalog], [8b magic], [9a Yearbook], [9b Emma’s Null, Mal’tory’s fate], [10a portals], [10b ECS crate], [10c taint], [10d dragons], [10e tainted dragon god], [11 timeline], [74 Nexus King].)

The Library

The Library is an alien entity established at or soon after the solidifying of planar Nexus. It existed before the first of the ten Elvish civilizations; its first enslaved victims have been wandering since the founding of Nexus and its repository contains ten Nexian scripts corresponding to present High Nexian and the nine fallen kingdoms, and it uses an additional, outlier cthulhian primordial script for personally-related materials [54]).
The Library was not built by humanoids, but rather by the same primordial makers who crafted the sapience-mimicking ‘gods’, the terraformed adjacent realms, and mana radiation, who are currently known only by their shadow over the present setting. The Library is one of the elder sources who existed closest to the birth of the Nexian dimensional subspace and “might have heard whispers and echoes of a time before [the creation of the Nexian universe]” according to Articord.

Construct and “god”

The Library behaves like an artificial intelligence (familiar territory if you read JCB’s other series), albeit with alien operating conditions. It uses meat bodies and physical objects as hardware, swaps ‘virtual’ for ‘ethereal’, and carefully delineates between the host for corporeal structure and its native incorporeal being.
Nexians identify the Library as a construct, but it appears to also match the character of a Nexian ‘god’, albeit one with independent will and thought. It is odd the King has not slain or devoured the Library as it threatens his narrative control, manifested most recently in making Emma Booker a Seeker to get at information Nexian states buried prior. Perhaps the King thinks he has it firmly under thumb, can tap users’ queries and submissions freely, and its utility as a resource and predator of Adjacent Realm’s information justifies keeping it around.

“What’s more, the books you see aren’t simply books. The library, the entire construct, is an entity. The books are the physical manifestations of this ethereal entity’s memories, ones that we can interact with. What I’m trying to say here is that even the library is fallible, newrealmer-” [48]
“Yeah, I do. I was informed it’s not just a neat little collection of books, an institution, or an organization in the typical sense. It’s an entity, a living, breathing being in its own right.” “These presuppositions are acceptable enough to proceed.” [49]

Library’s operation

Archive and curator and mysterious ultimate beneficiary

“We were established and constructed to perform one, simple, and unwavering task: to collect, organize, and preserve all forms of knowledge in perpetuum. For the library is eternal, but the mortal world is not. Knowledge without preservation is meaningless, and we are the keepers of meaning.” [19]

The Library’s prime directive is to archive information about the mortal world and physical goods submitted to it.
Although the library implies that its motive is to preserve a record of mortal civilization for a future after their extinction where someone will derive meaning from it, that statement does not stand up to scrutiny. There is an implicit assumption that mortal knowledge is valuable, therefore the mortal world must be valuable for creating it. Yet that contradicts with the Library’s following assertions that “It does not care for the worlds and realms beyond our own aside from the knowledge they may provide” and “The library exists to serve no one but itself”.
To be consistent, the Library’s motive must be preservation for preservation’s sake. But that too makes little sense. As a rule, self-motivated collectors usually develop their hobby out of passion for their target subjects, not indifference. The Library’s apathy towards the mortal world becomes logical when you reframe archiving as a job someone forcibly assigned to it which the Library is compelled to execute regardless of its own feelings. From there, the bendable but otherwise firm rules that constrain the Library’s trades make sense: the Library’s assignment has parameters it must obey, even if it is hurt and disrespected.
The Library’s unnavigable structure, apparent lack of freedom to fully adjust its rules to simultaneously achieve sodality with humanoids with efficient knowledge collection, and overall indifference towards mortal wellbeing strongly suggest that Nexians and humanoids are not the Library’s intended audience – the Library exists to extract value from humanoids for someone else’s benefit.
I suspect that the Library has offered Emma a lie about its prime directive, which is why it paused to judge Emma’s reactions after making the original series of statements above. (“The owl hooted deeply, taking a moment to gauge my reactions, despite very much being aware that the helmet obscured anything happening beneath it.” [19])
Given the Library’s age, its likely masters are its primordial creators.

Library Structure

Higher Plane. The Library’s world is defined by Thacea as a ‘higher plane’, not a mortal one, so part of the immaterial ‘heavens’? [51] The Library’s statements are consistent with it being another world (“Then Buddy shall lead you to the entrance hall. From there, you may exit back into your world.”) and that it is a nexus with multiple entrances: at least one corporeal entrance, and strongly-implied incorporeal entrances. Perhaps the Library is a virtual space somehow intruding upon reality.

Outside

“For in the boundless eons that it has stood, from scantily a tent in the middle of the untamed plains, to the grand spire you see before you, it has never, ever encountered a being such as you.” [49]

The Library is implied to have always existed on the Nexus although it has changed its location and appearance. Its ivory tower stands on an isolated outcropping near Transgracian Academy’s waterfall, hundreds of stories high and piercing the cloudy layer. A precariously narrow bridge with just enough space for eighty gargoyles to sit connects it to Academy grounds; the Library probably ‘owns’ half of the bridge.
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts has been host to the Library from its founding during the times of one of the prior fallen kingdoms; Transgracian is older than the ~30K years of the 10th elven epoch. No one has hosted it longer than the Academy.

Inaccessibility and relationship with Nexus

As far as we know, the Library is inaccessible to anyone without Crown approval. According to Lartia, Transgracia and Elaseer are a “national security” region requiring permission from officials to travel to. Getting access to the Library requires additional authorization to go onto school grounds. Despite this stranglehold, The Library seems to be content with the quantity and quality of its visitors.

Inside

The Library’s mega-stadium-sized+ world, inside larger than outside, has a background mana concentration four times higher than Nexian typical levels, probably for maintaining twisted spaces and search functionalities. The Library can rebuild its internal space on the fly and stabilize local wormholes or portals in its stacks.
Its structure appears to be floating in a white infinite void, superficially resembling the white skybox of Emma’s projector. Depictions in the book of punishment suggest the white skybox itself houses a collective intelligence - what the thousands and thousands of foxes become when their physical-bodied presence is not required.
Entrance door. Always remains in sight despite the constant rearrangements; however, the reciprocal is not true, all the other users aren’t in view from the entrance. Probably a mirage ‘you aren’t locked in’ comfort.
Stacks. The stacks are a mix of architectural styles. They writhe and books are haphazardly kept. The foxes and owls navigate the maze without fail and use looped space to warp about.
Inner sanctum. Where the admin’s godly-core essence likely resides. Only owls may enter. Protected by the souls and bodies of enslaved mortals kept alive as punishment, those two mentioned separately.
Seeker’s respite. For Seekers of Truth or people acting on behalf of the Library outside of the treaty, but long unused until recently. Woodland adventuring inn/tavern look, entered from the same main door. I assume it will become a hangout and headquarters for naughty activities when Emma needs to hide the auras of illicit acquisitions from the school. Has books, hangings, and pictures of ancient Nexian historic interest and a register of prior Seekers.

Emotive structure

The Library’s interior design changes to fit its moods. The usual features are a stadium-like space of evermoving stacks, solid white blocks, ornate wood panels, “render distance” hazy fog darkness that allows foxes to warp, and ominous picture-frame “windows” pouring light in from an endless white abyss. When the Library is upset, it is a dungeon of claustrophobic cobblestone, lifeless grey facades accented with dark obsidian and basalt, armored foxes, and eerier hazy fog.

Library aides

The Library [Admin]

Stated directly at a few points (“The library, or the Librarian”, “The library, and indeed all of its aides”, etc.), there is a greater entity plainly called “the library” that manifests in the dome overhead as a black void impenetrable to Emma’s sensors. This being administrates the archives from the guarded inner sanctum. It may mint new Library cards because an owl appeared to go there to retrieve Emma’s card.
The lesser aides relay the admin’s psychic(?) communication and decisions to patrons when it manifests. Lower-ranked foxes normally interact only with the owls, but the admin used Buddy at one point.
The admin has more authority than the owls when determining trades, but it also appears to have restrictions or prime directives constraining its exchange behavior that it has to test against (see the quote in the “Suspending the rules” section later). According to the Librarian owl’s testimony, the admin’s suspension of the mind-scan veracity check when trading with Emma the first time might not have worked and the trade would have been arrested somehow.
The darkening of the dome reminds me of the shadow that appears nearby, but not overlapping, a tainted person having a miasma attack. I’m going to guess it is a similar principle – a thinning of local reality only perceptible to people with mana-sight so that a presence on the other side can look through it like a window. It’s not a hole, so it doesn’t change the net background levels of mana; Emma doesn’t get a spike warning.

Librarian Owls

Assistants to the Library’s admin, they serve the interests of the Library. The book of punishment depicts multiple owls, but only one has been encountered so far which wears a graduation cap. Owls take over for underperformed foxes and arbitrate complex transactions when nuance is required, literally sitting on the fox’s head. Although the foxes seem more fallible, the owls are also fallible.
Owls are more selfish and closer to the Library’s interests; they are willing to offer deceptive trades for the purpose of acquiring more information.
Owls have finite processing capability and a limited ability to divide their attention between tasks. (“I’m afraid that will not be possible. The librarian is currently preoccupied with matters far more important than your own, mortal.” [19])
Only owls have access to the admin’s inner sanctum, not foxes.

Assistant Foxes

A chunk of the Library’s processing power, reified into a fox when not a dissociated part of the white void. They have characteristics of both biological organisms and VIs, or more likely slave AIs programmed to love their labor with limited freedom because the Library considers slavery ethical. They are fallible in trades.
Foxes sync up unnaturally like a hivemind. Foxes wormhole across the library via dark hazy spots and never get lost. They have advanced sensory and detection capabilities beyond that of biological creatures that don’t seem to trigger mana bursts, although maybe we simply aren’t seeing it reported. They can eat mortal food.
Unpaired foxes accelerate research queries.

Paired foxes

JCB explains how foxes get paired: Foxes named by a user who walks into the Library are assigned to that person for the rest of their life. Foxes want to be paired with someone who can trade knowledge for their whole lifetime. They are possessive towards their user. They seem to have performance goals they hope to reach, and their trade deals are evaluated by the owls.
Paired foxes advocate for their namer or cardholder in ways the Librarian owls do not as a form of balance. They are also responsible for writing up the information exchanged to the Library.
Paired foxes develop individualism, but it is unclear if this is a VI-like “adaptive amenity” for the convenience of the user or if it is a true organic change.
Buddy. Buddy is a space cadet to the degree he falls out of sync. It is unclear if outside influence corrupts or adds “real” personality to the assistant fox subroutine, or if he is merely adapting to Emma’s user profile. Curiously, it was Buddy that initially suggested the out-of-norm observation-based deal, and he seems to have a reputation.

Slaves

Like many major Nexian institutions, e.g. Transgracian Academy, the Library enslaves sapient beings. This applies to its internal hierarchies: foxes appear to be sapient, but their allowed actions are rigidly constrained.
The Library also enslaves outside sapients. Some of them were enslaved for committing what the Library considers a crime against it. The Library says it keeps the slaves as defense for its inner sanctum.
The Library’s enslavement is eternal, beyond the sanity limits of a mortal mind. Bound souls eventually go crazy - becoming “lost.” The prisoners of the library are miserable enough to moan on cue, so they still seem to be independent minds even though they are ancient; therefore, the Library must periodically repair its slaves’ sanities as maintenance.

Patrons of the Library

“This card demonstrates the integrity of one’s character. It serves as a mark of honor, and a symbol of virtue. It shows that you have been vetted, scrutinized, and probed by one of the wisest, oldest beings in all of existence, comparable only to His Eternal Majesty in its wisdom and judgment.” [45]

Befitting a society that wrongly conflates wisdom with technical knowhow and repository size, Nexians seem to think that Library Patrons are elected because they are trustworthy and virtuous. The title is respected, and one of the few that can be earned.

“It does, however, mean that you hold rights and privileges beyond that of the average knowledge-seeker. Should you require any additional assistance, or should you wish for any further transactions, the library shall expedite it to the best of our abilities.” [19]

These rights and privileges are not yet known.
The service of a fox assistant is not one of the privileges, anyone who names a fox gets it for life.
I suspect some patronage titles are tied not to individuals, but to positions, so the accumulated value doesn’t deplete on the holder’s death. Astur’s card might be the Academy Dean’s card, inherited by successors.

Library cards

A patron recognized by the Library gets a card with their own info on it, filled out by the Library as it learns it. Library cards come in bullion-like materials, yellow gold and platinum being two.
The Library can also cast spells through the card, likely for the purposes of transactions, long distance communication, and defense. The cards are planar artifacts because the Library mentions its interior is a different reality from the Nexus proper and didn’t advise that the card couldn’t be used on another realm (although it might drain out and become useless on Earth, like a shard of impart).
Library cards actively monitor their surroundings to a degree. A non-patron attempting to touch the card with a spell was enough to trigger its attention and a counterattack. It is unclear if the library card remote views patrons for its own benefit. I note Dean Astur doesn’t keep his card on him. Emma keeps her card in a mana-resistant sealed armor pouch, so magic-based spy functions will struggle, but plain sound-based eavesdropping might work!

Library contents and deletion

Living information

Future knowledge

“Just a jolly old perusal of this here compendium of all the knowledge of the realms that ever has been and that will be?” [44]

Apprentice Ral and Dean Astur seem to think the Library contains future information, unbound from time streams. That claim should be given serious consideration as evidence suggests information causality violations are possible with prophecies, the Library insists “We know that one day, you shall reveal all there is to know”, and (forward) time travel is present in setting. That said, the Library’s fallibility suggests it is forced to behave in unidirectional linear time for as long as it is tethered to the present corporeality, or else it would be able to recover its burnt information.

Deleting Information

The library’s ineffable memory can be purged by destroying the physical manifestation of the knowledge: a book or a section of them. The Library apparently does not have the ability to “back up” or redundantly store its knowledge as a hedge against attack. Nexians refer to this as killing or scarring the Library’s living information, perhaps because its books have aura cues associated with the tissues of living things.

Prior Scarrings

The Library was scarred several times during several epochs. There was major deletion in the first elven civilization: the collectors of dues for that episode are still wandering >>30,000 years later. I suspect the major first age one was how ancient elves upgraded to human-like forms through the consumption of liquefacted human essence from Earthians hypnotized and abducted using “fairy ring” portals. The kidnappings had to be staggered across time well into Earth’s distant future because the fewer-numbered-paleolithic humans would be driven into rarity and extinction from over-harvest by abundant Nexian elves. Cannibalism came with karmatic retribution; the 30th manatype, native to Earth, was deeply incorporated into these half-elven lineages and created the first Nexian tainted. These powers led to the fall of the first Nexian civilization.

Ilunor’s attack

The Library has wards against ‘plain’ dragon’s breath, but was defeated by an “ancient sorcery” additive. The damage-boosting potion Ilunor was forced to take caused an unquenchable smoldering that slowly ate away at whatever it burnt: a very RPG-like continuous damage/bleed mechanic.
Briefly, Mal'tory seems to have tasked Ilunor with deleting information tagged with the Nexian name for Earth (or Earth sublocations). This is the answer to the Library's first Seeker mission: topic of the deleted subject. Emma’s earlier-submitted information survived because she had not revealed her home realm, and a ledger row about shards of impart gifted to various realms also survived because the submitter happened to cut off their entry before Earth by Nexian name was identified as the recipient.
Unfortunately, WPAtaMS does not follow the conventions of typical mystery stories where the perpetrator’s actions are recounted as part of the resolution for the benefit of the readers. Ilunor’s retelling of his deeds would have clarified how he either traded information Mal'tory gave him or used mana cues to find the section to burn, when the Library became aware of the damage, and how he evaded the foxes’ counterattack and escaped. (Not to mention what his interactions with Mal'tory were like, the exact orders given, and when they were issued in response to Emma’s actions.)

The Library probably cannot feel when it has been attacked

Ilunor burned a section of the Library on Grace Day 1 between 1450 and 2300. The Dean’s emergency meeting response occurred on Grace Day 4 between 1245 and 1345ish. Even though Ilunor was assaulted by foxes (whom he might have slain), the Library required at least two and a half days to discover and take stock of the damage and alert Dean Astur.

Interactions with the Eternal King’s mass memory modification

The Eternal King of Nexus uses (at minimum) mass memory modification to effect Death by Omission, insidiously deleting memories from the populace to create a false history and the illusion of axiomatically establishing reality itself. Magical signs of any mental tampering, which the Library was able to detect on Ilunor, would vanish within one generation as all the adults tell their children false history. Coupled with a roundup of contradictory physical media by the King’s agents, the omission requires field anthropology to break.
In the case of the Great War, the King deleted memories of the appearances, cultural accomplishments, works, and potentially fate of the leading rebel realm. It is unclear if this mass memory modification affects the Library, or if a separate scarring is required. Some action against the Library is necessary to prevent it from noticing the contradiction between false and true history.
This is equivalent to mass defrauding the Library. Maybe it poses a catastrophic risk to Nexus’ credit surplus if uncovered.

Museum of stolen stuff

The library accepts physical objects (‘articles of interest’) as unique ‘tribute’ for seeker hopefuls and as evidence, so it must have a depository of antiquities and artifacts that magicrealmers submitted in place of pure information. If so, these are probably also kept in a haphazard fashion that makes finding any one difficult.
It wouldn’t surprise me if Nexus looted adjacent realms and gave all their treasures they didn’t want to keep for themselves to the Library as a means of depriving the adjacent realms of their cultural heritage and ancient knowledge with the bonus of having the library interpret them for Nexus.

Library’s rules

Rules of Service

A1. The Library does not care about worlds outside its own aside from the knowledge they may provide. The lives and wellbeing of mortals and their worlds have no value outside the information they may provide. The Library disclaims responsibility for the externalities of information it trades.
A2. The Library exists to serve no one but itself.
A3. Anyone may enter the Library. Users are called outsiders by the Library’s aides, sometimes derogatorily.
B1. The library exists as a keeper of knowledge, but does not prohibit the access of said knowledge from those who seek it. The Library will not restrict deadly knowledge from a malicious seeker.
C1. The library exists as a collector of knowledge The Library seeks to maximize the total value of mortal knowledge it contains, in quantity, in depth of weight, across many categories, and with proven veracity. The library has an internal code of conduct about its manner when collecting, but does not elaborate.
C2. The library encourages exchanges of any and all pieces of knowledge no matter how trivial or how significant. It also accepts objects and people for information value. Whether it keeps them or not depends on the submitter’s intentions.
D1. The library does not exist to expedite the search of knowledge for those who seek it, with the sole exception of those who are willing to trade knowledge for this service.
D2. The library exists not to provide knowledge, but merely as a repository that may be accessed.
E1. The library bestows a title of patronage on those it deems worthy. The title of patronage grants multiple privileges, some explained below and perhaps others that have gone unmentioned. Some worlds and mortal lives have more value than others because they can provide more information. These are offered courtesy and patronage. The Library implied that it may willingly accept a temporary deficit if a transaction will keep its more valuable patrons alive for future transactions.
E2. The Library assigns a personal assistant to a patron.
E3. The Library assigns a written title of honor that shall act as a calling card
E4. The patron’s assigned calling card will summon the personal assistant and Librarian owl should the patron request an expedited transaction. Recall Ilunor was made to wait when he demanded to see the Librarian. Expedited transactions may have additional benefits, outside the Library perhaps?
E5. The patron may cancel their title, calling card, and privileges at any time they wish.
F1. The Library designates one patron as its liaison with the outside world who has responsibility for executing the terms of the extradition treaty. This is Dean Astur in the present, and he had a platinum library card. This may come with special, but unknown privileges.
F2. A user who challenges the Library’s assumptions, brings the library several novel tributes (items or people), is independent of worldly powers, and is committed to objectivity may be assigned the role Seeker of Truth and associated privileges, which include a unique Library card.
G2. The Library’s rules exist in response to reality as it understands it. Not only may new developments change the rules, past forgettings could alter its behavior.

Other service notes

The Library places itself beyond mortal judgment. Everyone but Emma seems to operate under the unspoken philosophy that gods do not exist to be judged by the likes of mortals. The Library recognizes it is fallible, so it may graciously consider mortal dissent, but as a privilege, not a right. It expects its contracts and judgments to be obeyed absolutely.
The library displays some manners and courtesy, like not “hawking a patron for every scrap of information”, but implies that this conduct is for patrons. It seems confident that it can force every user to disclose all knowledge of interest eventually. [19]
The Library’s fox assistants are not supposed to offer subjective, interpretive opinions about the information it contains. [18] Owls are allowed to offer subjective interpretations, evidenced when the owl explained Emma’s value. [19]
The Library may be duplicitous, baiting out additional information with leading inquiries [19] and offering what it knows to be nonoptimal trades taking advantage of user naiveté. [50]
The Library has adopted Nexian customs, like forcing people to wait outside after knocking and bestowing titles. [18]
The Library may offer knowledge of topics a patron may not be aware of that they can trade for their current credit if it is insufficient for their desired transaction. [50]
The Library does not like when tag-alongs benefit from library transactions and tries to exclude them. This behavior also extends to library cards. [18]

Darker, assumed rules

• The Library is under no obligation to be truthful, especially outside information transactions. In the first meeting with the Librarian owl, it stated two known lies: 1) that it is eternal - Entropy claims all lives. 2) It exists outside Nexian politics (“Here you will not find the petty squabbles of the world beyond our walls”). It also offered a third, likely lie, that it serves no one but itself.
  
• Anyone may enter the Library, but leaving is at the Library’s discretion.
  
  • Besides objects, sapients may be submitted as tribute - The Library considered Ilunor to be a submission. Since the Library doesn’t value freedom or mortal sanity, it probably archives living individuals by preserving them eternally, regardless of their will.
  • It may be beneficial to coerce, bewitch, imprison, or break apart mortals for knowledge if it is probable that allowing them to leave will result in less overall knowledge collected or a permanent loss of knowledge, as might occur if the mortal is or soon will be the last of its kind. The knowledge gained must balance with the knowledge lost from a sullied reputation with local authorities and civilizations outside.
• The Library does not promise confidentiality, so trade details may be tapped, and probably are.
  

Principles of transaction / Axioms of Trade

Three axioms govern the majority of the Library’s transactions.

Category

The classification of information into divisions, sections, and classes utilizing subject-matter as a tool for delineation.

Information trades must be closely analogous; quantity can not circumvent this rule. An owl Librarian or the greater Library entity itself determines if proffered information is comparable. For trades related to technology, capabilities must be similar. This leads to conflicts with the library’s mission to collect all information when technologies have no parallel, so there is no incentive to trade.
Category is surprisingly restrictive and abuse prone. Only after receiving the information from the patron, the Library can determine that trade doesn’t quite meet the category standards, demand additional knowledge, but then retain the information for its own archives while leaving the patron with unwanted credit that is not especially useful. The Library pulled this maneuver on Emma with the radio trade and then tried to get her to waste the credit on information she was not interested in, so she would have to make a second, full resubmission rather than more efficiently use parts to build a trade-value whole.
Being duplicitous about category is one of the ways the Library can bootstrap into topics that it can’t categorically trade for honestly: “Tell me about it, and I’ll tell you if it is a good enough match.”

Weight

The significance and value of any given information based upon its quantity, quality, and density.
A word for a word, a paragraph for a paragraph, a book for a book, an anthology for an anthology... a million novels, for a million novels.

This axiom is where the Library’s neutrality will be tested. Applied simply, a no-name college student’s term paper could be traded for a renowned scholar’s term paper that was the first-pass basis for their seminal work. If the Library prevents this trade based on significance (work by a scholar in the field is more valuable than a no-recognition author outside it), it means the Library is making subjective value judgments about better or worse. This leads to issues where royal, elven, or Nexian works, because they carry the brand-name value of Nexus, are valued higher than corresponding adjacent realm works which are less popular because of authorship rather than merit. The Library is thoroughly steeped in Nexian values, shown by its isolation and magic-favoring operations, so I expect some degree of “Nexus > Earth et al.” to hit Emma’s trades eventually. Or Emma could apply significance to her own advantage, leveraging Nexus’ general lack of literacy and education against it. A book that sells ten million volumes in Earthspace is commonplace which makes it greater-than-trade-equal to most Nexian equivalents despite not matching the cultural significance.
For now, we haven’t seen this axiom exploited too much. Emma’s show-and-tell method of giving information to the Library seems to be yielding returns with a lot of depth, which suggests the Library is extracting quite a bit of data from the demonstrations of tech.

Veracity

The authenticity and credibility of any given knowledge, ascertained by the ebbs and flows of the mana stream, and by the reading of the mind at the moment of transaction.
The library, and indeed all of its aides, simply could not determine anything about Emma’s mana-streams, let alone the mind hidden underneath that helm.

Note there are two components to this axiom: mental state and manastream state.
Manafield vs Manastream. Based on what the Library said after it defined veracity, I think the author mistakenly used “manastream” instead of “manafield”. Emma does not have “manastreams” – no magic realmer does. They are an environmental feature that permeates all of Nexus. A manafield is the personal projection of magic around oneself that carries information, which makes more sense given that Emma is unusual for not having one.
The Library can detect signs of mental tampering but is vulnerable a generation removed from a round of mass memory modification as explained above.

Consilience as an alternative to Veracity

“It instead chose to rely not on the word of the patron, but on the irrefutable truths garnered through observable phenomena.”

The rule of empirical proof the Library asks of Emma is closer to a rule of consilience: the principle that evidence from independent, unrelated lines of proof can converge on strong conclusions. When multiple sources of evidence are in agreement, the conclusion can be very strong even when none of the individual sources is significantly so on its own. That allows Emma to get away with presenting proofs in piecemeal rather than a single topic in depth.

Suspending the rules

“Yeah, a big one actually. The last transaction I made at the library didn’t actually involve these draconian rules. I didn’t trade anything I felt was equivalent to the null with you guys. Not in category, and not even in weight. So, I’m curious as to how the rules applied to that?” “All transactions on that fateful day were a trial. A trial to see if trade was even possible given the lack of the third axiom.” “Rules exist in response to a reality that is known, Cadet Emma Booker. Should that reality change, the rules must adapt to fit that new reality.”

Following buddy’s actions, the admin made the decision to suspend the usual rules with Emma. Furthermore it had to test if suspension of the rules is possible, suggesting it is bound by subconscious directives it cannot probe except with tests.

Lies

The Library does not have an objective means of determining falsehood. It may make unfair trades by hallucinating facts based on structured deceptions it was earlier fed.
If the Library offers lies for a truth, what are the credit-back procedures? The Library owes credit equal to what was traded, and credit for being informed that it told lies, and also credit for the corrected truth. (Additional remuneration for having burdened a patron with falsehood would be appropriate, but the Library does not seem to consider mortals feelings). I suspect being given lies might be a crime that the Library can invoke its extradition treaty to address.
What happens when someone lies, perhaps unintentionally, and cannot offer a trade to even up their deficit incurred for receiving a truth for false information? Is this a crime against the Library that would invoke extradition and eternal punishment?

Diplomacy and Treaties

“Legally,” The Library does not count as either Nexus or an Adjacent Realm for the purposes of Nexian Binding Ties, Expectant Foobars, and Loremant Ipsums. The Library lied to Emma and claimed it is a party removed from most Nexian politics, when it is deeply entrenched in current and past power struggles, which is why it negotiated an extradition treaty and established a Seeker of Truth role.

Extradition Treaty

The extradition treaty the Library has with Nexus demands that every person the Library claims committed a crime against it must be turned over to it without exception, trial, or proof. There is no process of appeal, except by fiat. The Library uses coercion tactics like blackmail to ensure it gets convicts. We do not know what punishment it inflicts on Nexus for violating the extradition treaty, but the dean implied that open access is a privilege.

Punishment

The accused are turned into the Library dead or alive. The Library mind probes them to determine guilt. If dead, a living blood relative, if they have one, inherits their full punishment. The punished is first forced to recover information of value equal to the damage dealt. The library may make them immortal and send them seeking with magically compelled check-ins; these slaves are collectors of dues. I suspect that if an immortal collector somehow succumbs without paying back their dues, punishment is still bloodline inherited.
Once the punished completes their living sentence - no matter the severity, the Library rips the slave’s soul from their body and both are separately made to guard the admin’s inner sanctum for all of eternity - this eternal torture in the Library’s prison is wardship of penance. The Library reasons a crime against information preservation is an eternal harm so punishment must be as well.

Seeker of Truth

A position the Library considers one of honor. Emma earned the position with three unique tributes (two novel items and a person), direct challenges to the library’s assumptions, a commitment to the sanctity of truth, and - the failure case for most hopefuls - proof of ability to act independently from Nexian interests. The Seeker recovers lost knowledge for a reward: Emma’s is canceling Ilunor’s eternal slavery.
Tributes. One of the requirements to becoming a Seeker is giving unique, valuable, novel items or people to the Library - keep in mind the Library considers slavery moral so the willingness or rights of the tribute are immaterial. Many of these artifacts or individuals are likely kidnapped from their cultures, and it seems likely the Library keeps them eternally imprisoned, unlikely to ever be seen again. Living tributes are probably preserved via some eldritch means like the soul taking spell.
A Seeker’s library card is given a special updated border, they are allowed to enter their name into a register of prior seekers, and use the Seeker’s Respite. The library implies additional functionality (“Your card of patronage will be updated to reflect this, becoming more than a mere card, but a badge worthy of the honor of seekership.”)

Havenbrock vs. Library

Thalmin has a grudge against the library, and I suspect it has to do with information that was traded to Havenbrock’s disadvantage, either because someone else like Nexus preempted them (first come, first serve), or his people tried to add information but were not able to trade it for anything they desired and Nexus tapped it.

Index First Previous Next
Authors note: This one got a bit delayed, but as a bonus it is 10% longer than a normal chapter. Work has been very hectic and it was a bit hard to find enough clear time to write something. I write a lot of less interesting stuff at work, which makes it harder to write creatively sometimes. But here it is. Enjoy!

Chapter 9: Geir

Geir woke up with a start. He looked around confused and wondered where he was. Something buzzed next to him. He looked over at a small bedside table, where his comm was held in place with an elastic strap. Ah, yes. I am on a ship, The Verrier. The comm buzzed again and the screen lit up with a message to come to the pilot deck.
“What time is it,” he muttered to himself. He felt a bit groggy as if he hadn’t slept long. But a quick glance at the comm showed he had had two full deep sleep cycles. He should be ok with that. He washed himself quickly in cold water to wake up and put on a fresh set of clothes. Then he exited the small cabin to make his way up to the pilot deck. In the narrow corridor he nearly bumped into Liza who looked even more tired than he felt.
“Do you know what is going on?” he asked her.
“They found something,” she grunted. Clearly not in the mood for a conversation. She pushed herself towards the ladder for the canteen deck.
“I am making some coffee. I am bringing it up. Tell Kay I am coming, ok?” she said.
“Yep.”
Geir made his way up to the pilot deck, where he found Captain Kay, Diederik and Anna.
“There you are,” said Captain Kay. “Did you see Liza?”
“Yes she is coming. She is just fixing some coffee. She looked like she could need it.”
“Yes, she was up pretty late analysing the results.”
“So, found anything?”
“Yes we did.” She pointed to one of the bigger screens which held a somewhat grainy picture of something rectangular. The screen cycled through what must be images produced from different sensors, producing different false colours for each sensor suite. Along the edge of the picture was a scale, indicating that what they were looking at was about three meters across.
“What is that?”
“We don’t know,” said Anna. “We are going to find out though.”
“Find out what?” said Liza as she came up the ladder with a thermos in one hand.
“That was quick,” said Geir.
“There was some warm already. Couldn’t be bothered to make any new.”
“Really? Sacrilege!” said Geir, winking at her.
Liza just grunted and came over to the screens they were looking at. She stopped and looked at the cycling images.
“Is that what we saw earlier?”
“Yes,” said Captain Kay. “We ran a drone closer so we could get better pictures and resolution on the sensors. What do you see?”
Liza narrowed her eyes as she looked at the pictures. She was quiet for a minute as the others looked at her expectantly. She turned to them.
“You already have an idea I take it.”
Captain Kay, Anna and Diederik nodded in unison. Geir thought he would probably have found it amusing, if the atmosphere hadn’t been so tense.
“But you aren’t telling me. So, let’s see. About three meters across. A square. With some repeating patterns based on triangles on it. The material is some kind of mineral metal composite, as we discussed earlier. It probably isn’t the Chinese. Unless they brought a drone with an artistic bent with them.”
Liza sighed and made a face.
“I need some coffee first.”
As she poured herself a bubble. Anna looked at her console and said: “No change on the messaging from the Chinese. We are still invading sovereign territory according to them.”
Diederik snorted and looked at Captain Kay, who just lifted an eyebrow. Then she turned and looked expectantly at Liza, who had just drained a full bubble of coffee.
“Shit, I should have made some fresh.”
Liza turned back to the screens.
“It is an artefact. Isn’t it? Something that isn’t supposed to be there. The Chinese most likely didn’t put it there and we have observed the rock the whole time as it was coming in towards Jupiter and then out to here. Well, except for the time when it bouncing along the atmosphere. And nobody was going to plant something then. It could of course be something the Chinese did. But I can’t figure out what material it is. So we can’t rule the Chinese out. Occam’s razor and all that.”
“About where we arrived too,” said Anna.
“So we are going to go EVA and have a look then?”
“Yes,” said Captain Kay. “Geir, Anna and Frank.”
“Frank?” said Geir and looked surprised.
“Yes,” said Captain Key and nodded. “I am not letting Liza out just yet. I need two people to go. That means you Geir and Anna. And Anna isn’t leaving Frank here. So he goes too.”
Geir lifted up his hands as he started protesting.
“No Geir, that is how it is going to be. Let’s start planning the EVA and prepare the suits.”
Geir looked around to the others for support, but Diederik just looked at him. Anna shook her head slightly and Liza looked away seemingly focused on the screens.
“Fine! Whatever.” Geir turned around slightly too abruptly and had to catch a handhold to steady himself as he started drifting off. Over his shoulder he adressed Diederik: “Would you come and help me get the suits ready? It is a lot easier with four hands.”
Geir moved down the access ladder thinking. “How come Diederik is the guy I team up with now? I don’t even like him.”
In the brightly lit storage and changing area, Geir started readying three suits whilst giving Diederik instructions on what to do to help. Anna came in a few minutes later with Frank in tow and moved down into the cargo section to unpack a container. Geir looked at them as Frank climbed down the ladder and shook his head in frustration. He looked over at Diederik who just stared at him impassively for a few seconds and then started helping Geir step into bottom section of the suit. Anna and Frank came back up and started preparing a suit for Frank.
“Aren’t you coming as well?” Geir asked Anna.
“Yes, but I am using a different suit. It is downstairs.”
They continued in silence, Anna quickly and competently dressing Frank. Diederik taking a bit longer, with the help of Geir’s instructions. They were done nearly at the same time with Geir and Frank fully dressed in their EVA suits with just the helmets missing.
Anna looked at Diederik. “Could you please come help me downstairs?” She turned to the others. “You help each other down the ladder. Take it slow. While I get dressed as well,” she said in a friendly manner, but leaving no doubt who was in charge of this operation.
Geir got the helmets out of the storage and performed a safety check on both of them before handing one of them over to Frank. He helped Frank attach it to the suit where it was worn when not on the head. Then he let Frank go first down the ladder. It was hard to look down, as the EVA suit’s helmet ring restricted the movement of the head, so he had to feel his way with the feet to find the first rung of the ladder. Well down in the storage and airlock deck he saw that Anna had unpacked one of the military grey plastic crates. She was half dressed in the mech suit that the crate contained. A powered exoskeleton armoured suit. It looked like it had been refurbished, as several pieces of the suit were clearly new and others looked well worn, with scratches and faded colours. The suit smelled faintly of machine oil.
“Here,” said Anna to Diederik, as she pointed to her belt. “Attach the battery packs here. Once they are attached, double check that all five diodes show green for a full charge. Geir, could you open the lid of the other crate and lift out one of the rifles and give it to me. I can’t easily move, dressed halfway like this.”
“Rifle?” Geir said and looked at her. “We have rifles with us? Why would we need a rifle?”
“Do you know what is beyond that thing? It could be a hatch. After you give me a rifle, unpack a plasma torch to bring along. You know how to use them, right?”
“I know how to use one,” said Frank. “I have a certificate in both welding and breaching with one of them.”
“Ah, so you are useful after all?” said Anna with a snarky voice.
Frank abruptly went red in the face and looked down at this feet.
“Geir, find the plasma torch and give it to Frank, but keep the gas bottle separate. You carry it until we need it. I don’t want mister terrorist here to get any ideas.”
Frank’s face went even redder, and it spread to his neck which was all Geir could see at the moment. Geir exasperatedly shook his head and went and opened up the rifle crate.
Diederik worked silently to get Anna dressed in the last pieces of the mech suit, whilst Frank gradually seemed to calm down. Geir gave the rifle and two ammo packs to Anna, who put it down to put on the gloves of the mech suit.
“It is actually easier to work with the rifle with the suit gloves on, as it was designed to operate together. Otherwise the rifle is really too big for your hands.”
A few minutes later they were all suited up and ready, except for the helmets.
“Ok, here is what we are going to do,” said Anna. “We are putting on helmets and then we go through the safety tests. Then we grab the EVA safety harness gear, the radio relays and move it into the airlock. Geir, you are in charge of attaching us to the external mounting points of the ship. Once out there, nobody touches anything unless I say so.”
She touched the radio lever in the neck ring with her chin and that opened up the default radio channel.
“Jake, Anna here, can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear.” They all heard from the helmets.
“How close are we to touching down and being secured against the rock?”
“We are touching down in one minute and it will only take a minute or so to get us secured. Let me get this done first, then we talk.”
“Roger, Anna out.” She turned to the others. “Helmets on. Do buddy safety checks. Diederik help Frank with that, please.”
Just as they had completed the safety checks, they could feel a soft bump as the ship touched the rock and the landing leg suspension adjusted. Immediately a vibration sound, like someone drilling on the other side of a concrete wall, could be heard. This was the ship anchoring system attaching them to the rock.
Anna toggled the comms again: “How far will we be from the artefact?”
“It is just a few meters from the aft airlock and if I positioned us correctly I will be able to run a stabilising girder out over it. So you can easily attach yourself to that and the ship safety mooring points. I am using a robotic arm to drill an anchor point a meter from the artefact as well. Liza says the deep radar and the other sensors indicate it is safe to do so.”
“Ok thanks.” She turned to the others. “Let’s get this stuff into the airlock.”
After they had moved everything into the airlock Geir made sure all three of them were securely attached with a safety harness to separate steel runners along the inside of the airlock.
“Geir, you go out first. Attach yourself to the girder and then to the anchor point at the artefact. When that is done, Frank will disconnect you from the point in here. Then you Frank go through the same procedure and finally I do. You attach to different parts of the girder, so we don’t tangle so easily. Each one of us brings one safety harness pack and one raid-relay pack. Once we are all out of the airlock and disconnected from it we close it. Then we can take a look at the thing. Get all that?”
“Roger,” they both said.
“We are all going to be on the open channel all the time from now on.”
She turned Diederik.
“Could you close and secure the airlock, please?”
“Yes.”
“Ok, let’s do that.”
Diederik double checked that nothing was blocking the airlock and then pushed the button that started the process of closing the large door to the airlock. Once the airlock was closed Anna pushed the button that started the evacuation pumps.
“Keep an eye on the warning lights and tell me immediately if you get anything red or orange.”
As the air was being pumped out of the airlock Anna started experiencing the strange feeling that creeps up on you as all the sounds the ship makes gradually fade away. A ship is never quiet. Ventilation and pumps can always be heard in the background. Once you are in your suit in vacuum, you still hear ventilation and pumps, but now it is all internal to the suit. A much more intense and close-in sound when there are no other contextual sounds.
When the vacuum pumps stopped and the status lights for the airlock showed near vacuum, Anna looked at the other two.
“Any problems?” she asked.
“No,” both said and made the thumbs up sign.
“Ok. Opening her up.”
Anna pulled the lever that opens the airlock. A yellow warning light lit up and they could feel a slight vibration through their feet as the door started opening. Just as the door cracked open, the little remaining air that was still in the airlock suddenly became visible as a thin fog. The fog streamed through the crack that the door presented, and out towards the vacuum. Geir could see a shaft of bright light through the thin fog as the door opened. The light was from the bright external spotlights mounted around the airlock. A few seconds later the door was completely open and he could see what looked like a weathered rock slab outside the airlock door. It looked pretty much like grey granite with a subtle hint of red, with that surprising sharp detail that you get with no air to interfere with the light. Something that the light interfered with though, was most of the stars. The light was so bright on the rock that only the brightest stars were visible.
A robotic arm was just withdrawing after having drilled some holes and inserted safety mooring points.
When the door was completely open, Geir slowly moved along a handrail towards the door opening.
“The girder is deployed and secured,” said Jake. “You can moved out.”
Geir moved up to the girder which was deployed above the door and extended out five meters. He moved hand over hand to just above the artefact, which was right where Jake had said it would be. After attaching his second safety harness point to the girder, Geir carefully pushed himself towards the safety mooring point. He slowly drifted towards it and caught it with his left hand. He attached a third safety harness point to it. He wound the safety lines in so that he was more or less hanging just over the surface of the rock supported by the safety lines.
“Anna, can you release the one in the airlock please? I’ll reel it in.”
Anna released it and Geir reeled it in so none of them would get tangled up in it.
“Ok Geir, you are secure?” Captain Kay broke in.
“Yes.”
“Good work. Safety first. But we are dying of curiosity in here. Give us some close up impressions of the artefact.”
“Hmm. Not much to say beyond what the cameras showed us earlier. It is square. About 3 meters across. It has all these triangular patterns on it. The are different shades of quite dark grey mostly and some lighter grey pieces. It sort of reminds me of tile patterns from a Moorish palace, but with much larger pieces and the wrong colours.”
“Any thing that sticks out as different than the rest?” asked Liza.
“Not really, but I need to take a closer look.”
As they talked, Frank and Anna had started working on moving out and securing themselves. When they got done, Geir was very close up to the artefact, looking at it from different angles. It was complicated to manoeuvre in microgravity, as there were not many places to hold on to and stabilise.
“I don’t really know what I am looking at here,” said Geir. “If you had shown me this on Earth, I would have guessed it was a piece of art.”
“I have an idea,” said Frank.
“Yes?”
“Jake, could you turn off all but one or two of the lower lights at the airlock?”
“Yes, I think that is possible. Why?”
“The light is so strong with all of them on, that it is hard to see any height differences between the pieces.”
“Why would there be a height difference?” asked Anna.
“If this is more than an art installation, then possibly there is some way to distinguish some key pieces from the others. Maybe one or a few stick out a bit? We could see it because they will cast a shadow if we shine a light sideways along them?”
“Good idea,” said Captain Kay.
“It will take me a few minutes to find the subroutine that handles the door lights though, if I am only going to disable a few,” said Jake.
“I have an alternative,” said Anna. “How about we turn off all the lights and we use a suit torch to do the same thing. Much easier.”
“Ok, but the suit lights are a lot weaker.”
“We’ll just need a few minutes to adjust our eyes.”
“Good point. Ok are you three ready for me turning off the lights?”
“Roger,” was the chorus from all three.
Abruptly it was very dark and it got even darker as Jake turned off the positioning lights on this side of the ship. Gradually the stars started to appear as Geir’s eyes adjusted.
“This view never gets old,” said Frank as he looked up at the stars.
“Ok, I am lighting up a torch,” said Anna. “Geir, you are best positioned to have a look. I’ll light from behind you so you don’t get blinded.”
They spent ten futile minutes shining a torch at different angles trying to find anything different between the triangular tiles.
“Well,” said Geir. “That wasn’t it. A good idea though.”
“Ok, new idea,” said Liza. “What about ultraviolet? That may reveal something. I know that certain minerals show up clearly in UV.”
“Yes,” said Geir. “But these suits don’t have an ultraviolet torch. We’d have to get one from onboard.”
“Not really needed,” said Anna. “My suit has an ultraviolet torch. Let’s swap place. It is probably better if I light it from above.”
Anna and Geir swapped place, with Anna ‘standing’ on the rock and both Geir and Frank quite close to the artefact.
“I am turning off the torch now. We’ll wait a minute for the eyes to adjust again.”
Geir looked up at the sky and revelled in the Milky Way gradually becoming visible again. It stretched across the sky in a glorious river of light. A view that was breathtaking.
“Ok, ready?” said Anna.
“Hang on,” said Liza. “I am adjusting the cameras in here, so we can see better too. Now. Go for it.”
Anna turned on the torch and Geir could hear several people gasp simultaneously. Four equal patterns appeared clearly on the artefact. Three triangles in a pattern in each corner of the artefact.
“Wow, nice! Look at that!” said Geir.
“They are not that far from each other,” said Frank. “See, if you spread your hands like this you can…”
“STOP,” both Anna and Captain Kay shouted simultaneously, as Frank pushed the triangles.
Everybody was still and Geir realised he was holding his breath. He could feel a slight rumble through his glove that was touching the rock. Then the middle of the artefact slowly started descending into the rock.
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SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE MAASVERSE
I need answers on Vesperus.
Lets break down the facts...
1) She knows Rigelus "in passing." Does this mean that all of the Asteri did not travel together? And if so, how was it decided who would travel with who? Was Rigelus ever even on Prythian? I don't think so.
2) She gets upset and angry when Bryce calls Hesperus "the Evening Star." Is someone impersonating someone here? Can there be more than one Evening Star? Or can there only be one? And if so, who is legit?
3) She knows Theia very well. Vesperus herself says that she raised Theia from childhood. Furthermore, Vesperus wasn't suspicious of Theia (at all) on the day Theia imprisoned her. Vesperus says that "Theia was so charming that day" and that Theia told her she looked tired and to replenish herself in the crystal before sealing her in. From this recollection, it seems as if Vesperus trusted Theia and almost as if she had a fondness for her. Lastly, Silene refers to her light (Theia's light) as "light of the Evening Star." Could Theia potentially be Vesperus's child? I will go more into this further down.
4) Vesperus has uncanny references to Maeve. The first comes in their vessel bodies (forms that they both chose). Vesperus is described as having pale skin which "glowed like a full moon", red lips, long black hair, long fingers, and blue eyes. Maeve is described as having moon-white skin, a red-painted mouth, raven hair, long fingers, and violet eyes. They both also have black blood and are referenced as spiders various times in terms of body movement or their smiles. They both also have a similar depiction of their home planets.
Vesperus describes her home planet as "a planet that was once green." She states that "we grew too populous. Wars broke out between the various beings on our world. Some of us saw the changes in the land beginning–rivers run dry, clouds so thick the sun could not pierce them–and left. Our brightest minds found ways to bend the fabric of worlds. To travel between them. Wayfarers, we called them. World-walkers.”
Maeve describes her home planet very similarly. She states that "She learned that there were indeed other worlds. Not the dark, blasted realm in which they lived, but worlds beyond that, living atop one another and never realizing it. Worlds where the sun was not a watery trickle through the ash-clouds, but a golden stream of warmth. Worlds where green existed. She had never heard of such a color. Green. Nor had she heard of blue–not the shade of sky that was described. She could not so much as picture it...And the more she read about these other worlds, where long-dead wayfarers had once roamed, the more she wanted to see them. To know the kiss of the sun on her face. To hear the morning songs of sparrows, the crying of gulls over the sea. The sea–that, too, was foreign to her. An endless sprawl of water, with its own moods and hidden depths. All they had in her lands were shallow, murky lakes and half-dried streams."
Lets compare the two.
Vesperus's home planet: Born green -> Wars broke out -> Becomes wasteland -> "Brightest minds" find ways to world-walk
Maeve's home planet: Born green -> Orcus, Mantyx, and Erawan wage a mighty war -> Becomes wasteland -> Maeve learns to world-walk
Despite the similarities, I do not think they are from the same world (as much as I want to believe they are). Maeve never mentions wayfarers living on her home planet. She says that she read about them living on other worlds (though this brings the question of how texts about them got her planet). Also, world-walking was outlawed "long before" Orcus, Mantyx, and Erawan were born. This would give us conflicting timelines if they were on the same planet.
Lets restructure our comparison.
Vesperus's home planet: Born green -> Wars -> Wasteland -> World-walking discovered
Maeve's home planet: Born green -> world-walking outlawed -> Wars -> Wasteland -> Maeve learns to world-walk
Now... this does not mean that the Asteri/Daglan were never on Maeve's planet. They could have world-walked there (in an attempt to find a new home) and instead could have been met by Orcus, Mantyx, and Erawan, who waged "the war to end all wars" against them. This would also answer the question of how information about world-walkers reached Maeve's planet if they had indeed traveled there and put the information there themselves.
My theory is that Iphraxia is the Valg home planet. It is one of three planets mentioned to have kicked out the Asteri (therefore, it must be important). Iphraxia was conquered by the Asteri in A.E. 680. It was then lost in A.E. 720 because the occupants learned of the Asteri's methods and provided a "unified front" against them. Could this be the "war to end all wars" that Orcus, Mantyx, and Erawan won which ended up turning the planet into a wasteland?
If you still aren't convinced that they are from different planets, language is the nail in the coffin.
So lets talk about the Language of Creation / Existence.
Cauldron = Urd = Wyrd.
From HOFAS... “And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here–a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that world.”
A passage from Maeve... “Using the very language of existence itself, doors might be opened, however, briefly, between worlds. It was forbidden, outlawed long before her husband and his brothers were born.”
Language of Creation / Existence = Wyrdmarks !
I believe that Wyrdmarks are the Asteri's home planet language. Rigelus confirms that Bryce's tattoo is written in the language of his home planet. Amren confirms that Bryce's tattoo is written in the same language as the Book of Breathings. And for the longest time, fans have always theorized that those languages are Wyrdmarks.
If they are, this means that Maeve's home planet could not be the same as the Asteri's home planet. Maeve had to teach herself "the language of existence" using books from Orcus's library.
But we run into another problem...
In ACOMAF, the Bone Carver tells us that “when the Cauldron was made, its dark maker used the last of the molten ore to forge a book. The Book of Breathings.”
Who is the Dark Maker?
Silene tells us that the Cauldron was not made by the Asteri. It originated from Prythian and the Asteri stole it when they arrived. Did the Bone Carver lie about the Book of Breathings being made alongside the Cauldron? Or could the Dark Maker be Urd/Wyrd herself? The Under-King literally refers to her as a "cauldron of life."
Now, we also know that The Book of Breathings doesn't just exist on Prythian. Jesiba owns a copy that existed from the Parthos Library. Did someone bring a copy of the book to Midgard from Prythian at the time of the Crossing? Or could Urd/Wyrd place a copy on every planet she creates?
Despite all of this, I desperately want to believe that Vesperus is Valg and not Asteri (yes, I believe they are two different types of beings). In order for this to be plausible, however, it would mean that Maeve's planet is not actually the Valg home planet. Instead, the Valg and the Asteri would come from the same planet.
After wars broke out "among various beings" on the Asteri home planet, world-walking is discovered. Remember what I said about the Asteri traveling in groups? I believe they did. Vesperus and her group went to one planet, Rigelus and his group went to another planet, etc. (we don't know how many groups there were). However, we do know that Rigelus only ever refers to there being seven Asteri. He does mention Vesperus's group though. In HOSAB, Rigelus tells Bryce that his "brethren" lived on Prythian before her ancestors defeated them.
Lets make this very clear... Vesperus never refers to herself as an Asteri. She does, however, refer to her people as Asteri. She asks Bryce "If we lost the war to Theia, if my people are now a mere myth, how is it that you know Rigelus intimately? Do the Asteri still dwell here?”
I believe they are different beings that refer to each other as "my people" or "my brethren" because they are from the same planet. Not because the Valg = Daglan = Asteri.
I think Amren and Rhys got it wrong. I don't think the Daglan are Asteri. I think they are Valg.
Now, lets circle back to point 3) I made at the beginning of this post. Could Vesperus be Theia's mother? If Vesperus was indeed Valg and she birthed Theia (who we know is Starborn) then this could explain why Rhys has so many similarities to the Valg.
We know that Rhys is descended from Theia and from Silene. His powers are described very similarly to the Valg abilities in Throne of Glass, and he physically resembles Maeve (and now Vesperus). Is it possible that the Starborn line was created due to a Valg parentage?
In Throne of Glass, we read a lot about Valg breeding with different species to create different types of offspring (we know that Valg and Fae breedings produce witches, we know that Valg and shapeshifter breedings produce bloodhounds, etc.). So what would result in Starborn offspring? Potentially a Valg and Asteri breeding (though Starborn are Fae)? Or maybe just an Asteri and Fae breeding (if Vesperus is actually not Valg)?
Or... could Vesperus be Theia's grandmother? If we are to believe that Vesperus is indeed Valg, then Vesperus would have had to breed with a Fae to produce a Starborn Fae (but we know that Valg and Fae breedings result in witches). So, lets say that she had a child with an Asteri. That child would be either Theia's mom or dad. This half Asteri/half Valg child would then eventually have a child with a Fae (this would mix all three heritages) and could potentially be the result of Starborn Fae.
If this is true, then we would have to believe that the Daglan are not just Valg or just Asteri but are a mix of both (and the people of Prythian believed they were just all the same being).
Theia doesn't look anything like her daughters. Both Theia and Fionn have golden-hair. Both Silene and Helena have black/raven hair. I don't believe we are ever told what color Helena's eyes are, but Silene's are blue (just like Vesperus).
In Throne of Glass, we learn that female Valg are special. However, we never learn why they are special (just that they have more power than male Valg). Could female Valg potentially be the "true stars" that the Asteri mimic? Once again, I'm thinking back to how angry Vesperus got at someone else being called the "Evening Star". Is she truly the Evening Star? Do other female Valg have the light of stars in them? And has it all been a lie from the Asteri?
I'm going to end this long theory here. Every time I begin down this rabbit hole, more information just keeps connecting to the previous parts. This has gotten pretty long, so if you're still reading this please let me know your opinions and if there are any errors present on my part! I have so many other theories that I would love to discuss too!

I used to stream on twitch and stream a game with a very toxic smallish community. Game category only gets about 5k viewers. So, I was pretty much infamous among the community. I was good at the class I played and could hold my own and I have a good personality. Unfortunately, I chose to stream with cam as a female. So, this is what I was called:
I was called a goblin and ugliest egirl (on the game I play), a rat. I remember one comment by a "friend" saying "We need goblins in the world because how would other goblins be created?". I hated it when people would come around telling me what X said about me. So, I just cut those snakes out realizing they're not FRIENDS. It really hurt me and made me paranoid of everyone.
I had people come into my DMs telling me I was too ugly to ever be loved. I had people clip me on twitch of my face, where I was intentionally not speaking and legit just put "Yikes" as the clip title. Other clip titles included "Killing Ugly Egirl and Speeding off into the distance". I had jealous girls say stuff like "Good thing she's not cute because she already has X amount of viewers". I had people claiming I was fat and huge, when I was legit 115 pound 5'3" female at the time. I had random discord servers of people I didn't even know making fun of me and saying all this terrible shit about my appearence.
I would get hundreds of viewers poaring into my stream seeing what's unfolding in my chat. Cuz I would tell idiots off and that only would backfire.
My friends would have their appearences made fun of because they chose to be friends with me. They would get intentionally left out of game related things if they continued to hang out with me. "You simp for her cuz u look like that bro LMAO"
I had people say my voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard, your voice is annoying, can you please blow your nose?
I had people say I looked like a serial killer.
I had randos dig up old photos of me when I had acne at like 13-14. Looking up my home and trying to dig for anything they could to destroy me.
I had guys tell me I was a midget, when they were legit 5'6" themselves.... and I'm 5'3" ?
Needless to say, I've never written all of the terrible things that people have to said to me or thought about it all summed up.
Now, I don't like taking pictures of myself. People don't understand why I don't want my picture taken. I'm terrified it will get leaked to the freaks on the game I played. People IRL get confused when I say I don't want to look at the picture they took. I feel terrible declining to take pictures with others. Recently, I went to a photobooth with people I just randomly met. Didn't want to ruin the mood. I took pics with them and we all got copies. I didn't even look at the photos and just threw it and shreded it when I got home. Photos just remind me of the social rejection I've faced despite whatever I look like.
When I was younger, girls were terrible to me too. Saying I looked like a hot guy or I had a fat face. Making fun of how I dress. Calling me poor, (when im not at all). I had hobbies to do not buy stupid clothes zzz.
Needless to say, I've always been confident in myself and who I am, and what I look like. But what really happened growing up and into adulthood was the development of a distrust for people. People are not safe to me. I faced social isolation from my peers growing up saying I'm "weird" bc I didn't like the same things they did. What hurt most was the social abandoment. I feel like an outsider consntantly. It's hard for me to take rejection now (in any form). It just solidifies my worldview. I'm terrified I'm making people uncomfortable when I'm interacting with them. I want them to feel good and at ease when they're with me.
But I was confident with who I am and still am. I look at myself in the mirror and I see myself and I like myself. Nobody will ever destroy me. I'll always do my shit and they can eat shit if they don't like it. I think I've retained a unique sense of humor and sense of self. I don't mind doing stuff on my own. I feel most comfortable by myself. When I do interact with others I want them to feel heard, understood, and give them a warmth that I don't think I've ever recieved from anyone. However, it's hard for me to accept warmth from anyone or trust it.
I look at my old twitch VOD and saw how terrible my mental state was at the time. Where I'm terrified and saying things I would never say to myself if I was alone.
I've never told anyone IRL about the details of my erratic twitch days. Just that yeah, I messed around on twitch and it kinda sucked. I don't think I've really acknowledged it as anything until recently. I don't think I realize how much it damaged me. I never think about my feelings. So, I thought I'd write this up to reflect.

Game: D&D 5e
Group type: Online
Experience: Any! New players absolutely welcome!
Schedule: Thursday 8:00pm Eastern Standard Time
Roles sought: 3 to 5 players (One currently!)
Game style: A good balance between combat and roleplay with lean based on player preference and module run
Paid: $20 per player per session (Paid through Start Playing Games)
Hello there! I'm Jordan, I'm a lover of tabletop roleplaying games both in person and online. I've played various ones over the years but somehow never ended up playing D&D until two years ago and I have since fallen in love. I try to bring a fun and goofy environment with plenty of room for serious when the mood calls for it. I've put my hat in as a professional DM (still think that sounds a little goofy I'll admit) to help pay the bills while doing something I love.
Tyranny of Dragons!
A village in flames and a sinister cult with mysterious motives to blame! Face down the Cult of the Dragon and their draconic allies to uncover what plans they're hatching, for the fate of the Sword Coast will depend on it! Will your hero take up arms against these scoundrels?
The Tyranny of Dragons module is a good one for both first time and veteran players with a two thirds focus on combat and one third on intrigue and discovery with plenty of room for roleplay in between. The campaign takes place in the Faerun setting and will see the heroes crisscrossing the Sword Coast region to uncover what the Cult of the Dragon has planned and put a stop to it. If they can! The Tyranny of Dragons module gets a lot of flack for being somewhat poorly written and while after running it I can say it's not too awful, it leaves a lot to be desired. For that purpose I have heavily modified it to make it more enjoyable and in many ways more intense. I've tried to really crank up the high stakes feeling of the campaign. Without getting too into any spoilers, did you know the original module only has five scripted dragon fights? In a campaign with Dragons in the name, none of which are Red Dragons either, the kind you think of when you hear "Dragon." Fixing this missed opportunity is one of the main changes I've made.
"Online-Inperson Format"
This is the style of play we'll be using, something I haven't seen being offered and what makes this game extra unique. A physical tv screen with a map is streamed through discord, on which will be placed minis of your characters and the enemies. I have 3D printed and painted minis for every combat encounter we'll be running. Roll20 will be used for rolling and character sheets. For an example of what this will look like, feel free to join the discord and check out pictures! Since this is not for everyone, I still operate Roll20 the exact same as any other online game, this is just something extra that I like for an extra layer of engagement and unique play! And yes, if you make a heroforge character I will print and paint it for the table!
https://discord.gg/fWZuCvK9rx
Can't wait to meet ya!
https://startplaying.games/adventure/clubqefsa00tl08lah49je7qm

[Online][5thEd][EST][Campaign] Curse of Strahd! 🩸 She is the Ancient 🩸 Beginner Friendly 🩸"Online-Inperson" Format (See description) 🩸 Level 3-10 🩸
Game: D&D 5e
Group type: Online
Experience: Any! New players absolutely welcome!
Schedule: Tuesday 8:00pm Eastern Standard Time
Roles sought: 3 to 5 players (1 currently!)
Game style: A good balance between combat and roleplay with lean based on player preference and module run
Paid: $20 per player per session (Paid through Start Playing Games)
Hello there! I'm Jordan, I'm a lover of tabletop roleplaying games both in person and online. I've played various ones over the years but somehow never ended up playing D&D until two years ago and I have since fallen in love. I try to bring a fun and goofy environment with plenty of room for serious when the mood calls for it. I've put my hat in as a professional DM (still think that sounds a little goofy I'll admit) to help pay the bills while doing something I love.
Curse of Strahd!
Step into the mysterious realm of Barovia where horror and danger lie around every corner! Uncover the secrets of Ravenloft under the ever watchful gaze of the ruler of these lands, the Countess Strahd von Zarovich. Fate has bound you both together, setting you upon a crash course guaranteed to collide in confrontation!
Will you survive? Or succumb to the powers of the vampire like so many before you?
Curse of Strahd brings a dark, rich fantasy atmosphere to the game and is by far my favorite D&D module and setting. This campaign will take players from levels 3 to 10 as you criss cross the gloomy hope starved lands of Barovia to discover its secrets and thwart the plans of the Countess Strahd von Zarovich.
I have made several modifications to the original module to improve on some of its lacking bits and add more to the high stakes feel of the campaign. The obvious biggest change being Strahd, this change significantly impacts the story, relationships, and motivations behind the Dark Lady of Ravenloft.
This campaign welcomes new and experienced players! As well as players who have already run through Curse of Strahd, with all the changes made you're guaranteed to have a very different experience this time around!
"Online-Inperson Format"
This is the style of play we'll be using, something I haven't seen being offered and what makes this game extra unique. A physical tv screen with a map is streamed through discord, on which will be placed minis of your characters and the enemies. I have 3D printed and painted minis for every combat encounter we'll be running. Roll20 will be used for rolling and character sheets. For an example of what this will look like, feel free to join the discord and check out pictures! Since this is not for everyone, I still operate Roll20 the exact same as any other online game, this is just something extra that I like for an extra layer of engagement and unique play! And yes, if you make a heroforge character I will print and paint it for the table!
https://discord.gg/fWZuCvK9rx
Can't wait to meet ya!
https://startplaying.games/adventure/clujvr9bh00v508l0214j3cve