Finasteride, marketed under the names Propecia or Proscar, has long been prescribed to address male pattern baldness and enlarged prostate. However, a recent study conducted at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign suggests that there may be some cardiovascular benefits of finasteride. Research shows that finasteride can reduce cholesterol levels, lowering the risk of cardiovascular disease.

WHAT IS FINASTERIDE?

Finasteride is a medication used to treat hair loss, particularly male pattern baldness, as well as benign prostatic hyperplasia (BPH). BPH is a condition characterized by an enlarged prostate gland. Finasteride belongs to a class of drugs known as 5-alpha-reductase inhibitors. Its primary mechanism of action involves blocking the enzyme 5-alpha-reductase, which converts testosterone into dihydrotestosterone (DHT). By inhibiting DHT production, finasteride helps to slow down hair loss and promote hair regrowth in individuals with androgenetic alopecia. While also reducing prostate gland size and relieving symptoms associated with BPH. Finasteride is typically available in oral tablet form. It is often prescribed at a dosage of 1 milligram daily for hair loss and 5 milligrams daily for BPH. It is important for individuals considering finasteride to consult with a healthcare provider to discuss its potential benefits and risks.

HOW FINASTERIDE TREATS HAIR LOSS

Finasteride operates through a multifaceted mechanism targeting the root cause of male pattern baldness, also known as androgenetic alopecia. Male pattern baldness is predominantly driven by the hormone dihydrotestosterone (DHT), which plays a central role in shrinking hair follicles. This process shortens the hair growth phase, and eventually leads to hair thinning and loss. Finasteride functions by inhibiting the activity of the enzyme 5-alpha-reductase, responsible for converting testosterone into DHT within the body. By blocking this enzyme, finasteride effectively reduces DHT levels in the scalp. Thereby interrupting the destructive cycle that leads to hair follicle miniaturization and eventual hair loss.
One of the primary effects of finasteride is to prolong the anagen, or growth, phase of the hair follicle cycle. With reduced levels of DHT, hair follicles can remain in the active growth phase for longer periods, resulting in thicker, healthier hair strands. Additionally, finasteride may also stimulate the proliferation of hair follicle cells and promote the development of new, stronger hair shafts. Over time, this leads to increased hair density, improved scalp coverage, and a noticeable reduction in hair loss.
Clinical studies have consistently demonstrated the efficacy of finasteride in treating male pattern baldness. In randomized controlled trials, men using finasteride showed significant improvements in hair growth compared to those receiving a placebo. Moreover, long-term observational studies have revealed sustained benefits of finasteride therapy. Many individuals experienced continued hair regrowth and maintenance of hair density over several years of treatment. Finasteride is typically administered orally, with a recommended dosage of 1 milligram per day. Overall, finasteride remains a cornerstone in the management of male pattern baldness. It offers effective and reliable results for many individuals seeking to address hair loss concerns.

FINASTERIDE LEADING TO DECREASED CHOLESTEROL

Emerging research suggests that finasteride may possess unexpected benefits beyond its primary indications. A study conducted at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign found intriguing associations between finasteride use and reduced cholesterol levels, potentially leading to a decreased risk of cardiovascular disease. Published in the Journal of Lipid Research, the study analyzed data from the National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey (NHANES) between 2009 and 2016, revealing significant correlations between finasteride usage and lower cholesterol levels among male participants. Moreover, experiments conducted in mice administered high doses of finasteride demonstrated reductions in total plasma cholesterol, delayed progression of atherosclerosis, and diminished liver inflammation, suggesting a potential cardioprotective effect of the medication.
While the precise mechanisms underlying finasteride’s impact on cholesterol levels remain to be fully understood, its primary mode of action provides a plausible explanation. Finasteride works by inhibiting the enzyme 5-alpha-reductase, thereby reducing the conversion of testosterone to dihydrotestosterone (DHT). Given the established link between androgens and cardiovascular health, particularly in the context of atherosclerosis, it is conceivable that finasteride’s modulation of androgen levels may contribute to its cholesterol-lowering effects. However, further research is warranted to explore the intricate interplay between finasteride, hormonal dynamics, and cardiovascular risk factors, offering new avenues for understanding and potentially leveraging the therapeutic benefits of this widely used medication.

STUDY FINDINGS

Published in the Journal of Lipid Research, the study uncovered significant correlations between finasteride usage and decreased cholesterol levels among male participants in the National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey from 2009 to 2016. Additionally, in experiments involving mice administered high doses of finasteride, researchers observed reductions in total plasma cholesterol, delayed progression of atherosclerosis, diminished liver inflammation, and associated benefits.
Lead study author Jaume Amengual, Assistant Professor in the Department of Food Science and Human Nutrition and the Division of Nutritional Sciences at the College of Agricultural, Consumer and Environmental Sciences (ACES) at U. of I., expressed surprise at the findings. Contrary to expectations, men using finasteride exhibited cholesterol levels averaging 30 points lower than non-users, shedding light on an unforeseen aspect of the medication’s effects.
Subsequent experiments conducted by doctoral student Donald Molina Chaves involved administering varying doses of finasteride to atherosclerotic male mice fed a high-fat, high-cholesterol diet. Results revealed lowered cholesterol levels in mice receiving high doses of finasteride, accompanied by reduced liver lipids and inflammatory markers.
While the observed effects were significant at doses exceeding human usage, Amengual emphasizes the importance of considering species differences in drug metabolism. Nonetheless, the findings suggest that finasteride may influence cholesterol levels in humans even at standard doses. This offers a promising avenue for further investigation.

FUTURE DIRECTIONS

Prompted by the unexpected connection between finasteride and cholesterol levels, Amengual delved deeper into the mechanisms underlying this phenomenon. Given the drug’s primary role in altering hormonal dynamics by blocking a protein involved in testosterone activation, Amengual’s interest in exploring its broader effects was piqued.
Moving forward, tracking cholesterol levels in finasteride patients or conducting clinical trials may elucidate this effect further. Of particular interest is exploring potential cardiovascular benefits in transgender individuals undergoing hormonal transitions. This is a group at higher risk of both hair loss and cardiovascular disease.

CONCLUSION

Despite the potential benefits, Amengual emphasizes the importance of consulting healthcare providers before commencing finasteride treatment, given its associated risks. Nonetheless, these findings open new doors for research into the broader implications of finasteride. This offers hope to a diverse range of individuals for the cardiovascular benefits of finasteride.

Johann Gottlieb Fichte

19 May 1762 – 29 January 1814
J. G. Fichte and a priori Providentialism
Part of a Series on the Philosophy of History
Sunday 19 May 2024 is the 262nd anniversary of the birth of Johann Gottlieb Fichte (19 May 1762 – 29 January 1814), who was born in Rammenau, Saxony, then part of the Holy Roman Empire, on this day in 1762.
Fichte is often remembered in histories of philosophy as an immediate successor to Kant in the German idealist tradition. While still a young man Fichte wrote and anonymously published Attempt at a Critique of All Revelation. This was in 1792 when Fichte was 30 years old. Many believed that Kant had written this work, given Kant’s earlier critiques of pure reason, practical reason, and judgment, so when Kant denied authorship and identified Fichte as the actual author, Fichte experienced the philosophical equivalent of being an overnight sensation.
But Fichte’s life was an unsheltered as Kant’s life was sheltered. He was a born trouble-maker and was willing to touch the third rail of Enlightenment politics by writing and speaking openly about matters of religion, as revealed by his work on revelation. Fichte is sometimes called inflexible and rigid, though we could also say (a little more charitably) that he was principled and not inclined to compromise. Partly as a result of this temperament, Fichte became embroiled in a controversy in German intellectual life remembered as the Atheismusstriet, or Atheism Controversy.
During this controversy Friedrich Jacobi published an open letter against Fichte in which Jacobi coined the term “nihilism” to describe what he took to be Fichte’s position:

“Truly, my dear Fichte, I would not be vexed if you, or anyone else, were to call Chimerism the view I oppose to the Idealism that I chide for Nihilism. I have paraded my not-knowing in all my writings; in my non-knowledge I have prided myself so to be with knowledge, so perfectly and completely, that I am certainly allowed to be contemptuous of the mere doubter.—I have wrestled for truth with zeal and fervour since childhood as few others; as few others have I experienced my powerlessness—and my heart has grown tender for that—yea, very tender, my dear Fichte—and my voice so gentle! Just as I have deep compassion for myself, as human being, so I have it for others. I am patient without effort; but that I am truly patient without effort costs me a lot. The earth will be light above me—it won’t be long.”

Nihilism was to go on to have quite a career as an idea after Jacobi’s letter. While for Jacobi, the nihilism he attributed to Fichte was the inevitable outcome of reason, nihilism did not remain centered on Jacobi’s critique of Kantian philosophy, but came to signify belief in nothing at all.
Fichte’s controversial stance created a problem for the authorities at the University of Jena, where Fichte was employed at the time. Fichte wouldn’t budge, and this was one of the episodes responsible for his reputation for inflexibility, so the University of Jena dismissed him in 1799. At this point, with little to his name and few prospects, Fichte walked from Jena to Berlin—Google Maps says it takes 55 hours to complete this walk—and eventually he became part of the philosophical scene in Berlin.
Fichte attempted, semi-successfully, to support himself with popular books and lectures. For a philosopher coming from a background of Kantian philosophy—the most technical philosophy of its day—this was a bold project, but he gamely attempted to bring his interpretation of Kantianism to the masses. One of the outcomes of this effort was Fichte’s short book The Vocation of Man (1800). Fichte’s academic work was riddled with jargon, but The Vocation of Man is written in plain language and was intended for a popular audience. However, it’s still a demanding philosophical argument. In it, Fichte articulated a conception of human destiny that is universalistic, rationalistic, teleological, and even infinitistic:

“Let us not ask of history if man, on the whole, have yet become purely moral. To a more extended, comprehensive, energetic freedom he has certainly attained; but hitherto it has been an almost necessary result of his position, that this freedom has been applied chiefly to evil purposes. Neither let us ask whether the aesthetic and intellectual culture of the ancient world, concentrated on a few points, may not have excelled in degree that of modern times! It might happen that we should receive a humiliating answer, and that in this respect the human race has not advanced, but rather seemed to retrograde, in its riper years. But let us ask of history at what period the existing culture has been most widely diffused, and distributed among the greatest number of individuals; and we shall doubtless find that from the beginning of history down to our own day, the few light-points of Civilization have spread themselves abroad from their centre, that one individual after another, and one nation after another, has been embraced within their circle, and that this wider outspread of culture is proceeding under our own eyes. And this is the first point to be attained in the endless path on which humanity must advance.”

Notice that Fichte implies a distinction between two kinds of progress: there is progress toward the highest degree of excellence, and here humanity may have backslid, but there is also progress toward broadly distributed high culture, and here Fichte thinks that his time definitely surpassed previous history. Fichte also says that progress, by which he means moral progress, is an endless path, and we have already seen that it is possible for humanity to experience retrograde moral progress, so the pathway to man becoming purely moral, as Fichte sees it, is endless, it can incorporate reversals, and it can be striving to new heights or to wider diffusion.
This and many other passages point to the infinite perfectibility of man, which shows us the extent to which Fichte had imbibed the ideals of the French Revolution—or, we might say, he had imbibed the ideals of the French philosophers who were instrumental in laying the foundations of the French revolution, and were later arguably co-opted by the revolution, as in the case of Condorcet, who wrote this paean to the infinite perfectibility of man while on the run from the revolutionary gendarme. But the infinite perfectibility of man as Fichte imagines it is a teleology with a real history: things can go wrong, we can get sidetracked, we might pursue one form of moral excellence or another, and so on.
And Fichte also transmuted the French concept of the infinite perfectibility of man in the image of German idealism, producing a kind of philosophical spiritualism. Part of this transmutation of ideals came about because of the direction that Fichte saw the French revolution take as it developed. Many philosophers at the time initially supported the ideals of the French Revolution, but came to see it in a different light after the Terror and the Napoleonic Wars. Fichte as well.
Seeking to rally his countrymen after defeats inflicted by Napoleon, Fichte gave a series of public lectures later published as Addresses to the German Nation. This was more than a half century before the unification of Germany as a nation-state. In the twentieth century this work was savaged by George Santayana in his book Egotism in German Philosophy, which I mentioned in my episode on Wars and Rumors of Wars. Santayana called Fichte “an uncompromising puritan” and in Santayana’s fever dream of German expansionism he imagined Fichte as the source of it all:

“…Fichte gives us prophetic glimpses of an idealistic Germany conquering the world. The state does not aim at self-preservation, still less is it concerned to come to the aid of those members of the human family that lag behind the movement of the day. The dominion of unorganised physical force must be abolished by a force obedient to reason and spirit. True life consists in refashioning human relations after a model innate in the mind. The glorious destiny of Germany is to bring forth and establish the world anew. Natural freedom is a disgraceful thing, a mere medley of sensual and intellectual impulses without any principle of order. It is for the Germans to decide whether a providential progress exists by becoming themselves the providence that shall bring progress about, or whether on the contrary every higher thought is folly. If they should fail, history would never blame them, for in that case there would be no more history.”

Many others also have seen Fichte’s work through the lens of the wars of their time, which were the world wars of the twentieth century, rather than through the lens of the wars of Fichte’s time, which were the Napoleonic Wars.
Fichte knew that he was putting his life on the line by publicly speaking out against the French, as he at one time referenced the fate of Johann Philipp Palm. Palm, a book seller, was connected to a pamphlet, Germany in Its Deep Humiliation (Deutschland in seiner tiefsten Erniedrigung), that angered Napoleon. Napoleon ordered his subordinates to try and execute Palm within twenty-four hours. Palm was tried on 26 August 1806 by a French military tribunal, found guilty, and shot within hours of the verdict. Four other book sellers also were tried were not executed. Fichte knew that the same thing could happen to him in publicly speaking out on behalf of the German people. We can see from incidents such as this that Fichte was in the thick of the history of his own time, sometimes riding the wave and sometimes making waves.
Roberta Picardi notes both the derivation and dependence of Fichte’s views from Kant, as well as Fichte’s divergence from Kant:

“Fichte explores the epistemic status and method of history with an aim which is clearly taken from Kant: the purpose of introducing a systematic and scientific method in the infinite field of the empiricism, of which history is a part, together with experimental physics. As we can read in The Characteristics of the Present Age he wants to obtain ‘a sure progress according to rule instead of an uncertain groping in the dark’ from history, i. e., instead of the ‘Herumptappen’ (this is the German word for ‘groping’) that in the second Preface to the Critique of Pure Reason Kant contrasts with the ‘secure path of a science’.”

But the secure path of science isn’t always all that secure, given that there are multiple scientific pathways, and not all pathways lead to the same end. This is the distinction within Fichte’s philosophy of history noted by Angelica Nuzzo:

“Fichte builds his idea of a philosophy of history upon a paradoxical argument. He pushes to the extreme the claim of the bare factual nature of history as a realm of irrational, not-conceptual, and thoroughly contingent reality. Yet he also maintains that philosophical knowledge of history is possible—although neither as deductive, nor conceptual, nor genetic knowledge. Against the fictitious notion of historical Wahrscheinlichkeit (plausibility, probability), Fichte holds on to the notion of ‘historical truth’ and to its ‘logic.’ Despite its radically empirical character, history can be construed a priori.”

Some of the flavor of Fichte’s a priori approach to history can be gained from his primary work on the philosophy of history Characteristics of the Present Age (Der Grundzüge des gegewärtigen Zeitalters, 1806), in which he decomposes history into Five Principal Epochs, based not on historical contingencies, but rather upon human destiny and moral development:

“…we endeavoured to pre-figure the whole Earthly Life of Man by a comprehension of its purpose;— to perceive why our Race had to begin its Existence here, and by this means to describe the whole present Life of humankind:—this is what we wished to do,—it was our first task. There are, according to this view, Five Principal Epochs of Earthly Life, each of which, although taking its rise in the life of the individual, must yet, in order to become an Epoch in the Life of the Race, gradually lay hold of and interpenetrate all Men; and to that end must endure throughout long periods of time, so that the great Whole of Life is spread out into Ages, which sometimes seem to cross, sometimes to run parallel with each other:—1st, The Epoch of the unlimited dominion of Reason as Instinct: —the State of Innocence of the Human Race. 2nd, The Epoch in which Reason as Instinct is changed into an external ruling Authority;—the Age of positive Systems of life and doctrine, which never go back to their ultimate foundations, and hence have no power to convince but on the contrary merely desire to compel, and which demand blind faith and unconditional obedience:—the State of progressive Sin. 3rd, The Epoch of Liberation,—directly from the external ruling Authority—indirectly from the power of Reason as Instinct, and generally from Reason in any form;—the Age of absolute indifference towards all truth, and of entire and unrestrained licentiousness:—the State of completed Sinfulness. 4th, The Epoch of Reason as Knowledge;—the Age in which Truth is looked upon as the highest, and loved before all other things:—the State of progressive Justification. 5th, The Epoch of Reason as Art;—the Age in which Humanity with more sure and unerring hand builds itself up into a fitting image and representative of Reason:—the State of completed Justification and Sanctification. Thus, the whole progress which, upon this view, Humanity makes here below, is only a retrogression to the point on which it stood at first, and has nothing in view save that return to its original condition. But Humanity must make this journey on its own feet; by its own strength it must bring itself back to that state in which it was once before without its own coöperation, and which, for that very purpose, it must first of all leave.”

We can call Fichte’s Five Principal Epochs a “stadial” philosophy of history, since “stadial” refers to stages. In this passage we gain an appreciation of the necessity of the five stages of history as a developmental process that cannot be gotten around: there is no royal road to the end of the history.
In the Second Lecture from Fichte’s Some Lectures Concerning the Scholar’s Vocation, he makes explicit both the a priori developmental history of humanity and the utopian picture of the ultimate end of human development:

“…a very great man has said, life in the state is not one of man’s absolute aims. The state is, instead, only a means for establishing a perfect society, a means which exists only under specific circumstances. Like all those human institutions which are mere means, the state aims at abolishing itself. The goal of all government is to make government superfluous. Though the time has certainly not yet come, nor do I know how many myriads or myriads of myriads of years it may take (here we are not at all concerned with applicability in life, but only with justifying a speculative proposition), there will certainly be a point in the a priori foreordained career of the human species when all civic bonds will become superfluous.”

The editor says in a footnote that the “great man” mentioned was probably an allusion to Kant’s Idea of History from a Cosmopolitan Point of View. We saw in my episode on Kant how Kant saw the teleology of humanity as establishing the perfect civil constitution, though I also speculated that, if we take Kant’s later writings on history in the context of his early pre-critical work on natural history, this Kantian teleology for humanity is nested within a larger cosmological teleology. By my reading, then, Kant is actually the more naturalistic position, while Fichte is the more anthropocentric, and his ideal is a purely spiritual ideal, even an a priori idea. For example, Fichte isn’t in the least interested to even give an estimate of the period of time that will be required for humanity to abolish all government, but he only points out that this is the ultimate end.
Marx also predicted the withering away of the state after communism had been achieved, and Marx, too, emphasized definite stages in human development that would lead to this outcome. With Kant, Fichte, and Marx all predicting the end of formal human governments we might take this prediction as a distinctive feature of a certain class of philosophies of history. Toynbee, too, saw not exactly the end of the state, but the end of universal civilizations, which would cede their place to universal churches, which sounds to me a lot like Kant, Fichte, and Marx anticipating the ultimate abolition of government in a perfect society.
This we can understand as a kind of inverse teleology, in which it is not (or not only) the advent of some future eventuality that is foreseen, but the abolition of some present state-of-affairs in the future as the goal of human development. For Kant, Fichte, Marx, and Toynbee, there is a dual teleological movement, in which some novel state-of-affairs is to unfold, while a present state of affairs is to give way and disappear as the new order comes to replace it. We could call this a stadial philosophy of history, but it is as much a substitutional philosophy of history: one social order is substituted for another; familiar institutions are to be replaced by novel institutions that take their place.
As far as the new institutions are expected to be an improvement over the old, this is also a melioristic philosophy of history. All progressivist philosophies of history are also melioristic, but we can distinguish between gradualistic meliorism, in which iterated reform eventually converges on a perfect society, which could be a finite or an infinitistic process, and stadial meliorism, in which there is a replacement rather than reform of a social order, and this replacement is an improvement.
For a non-stadial, non-teleological philosophy of history, we can turn to Leopold von Ranke, who was critical of Fichte’s five epochs:

“One of the ideas with which philosophy again and again confronts history as an irrefutable claim is that mankind is on an uninterrupted road to progress, in a steady development toward perfection. Fichte, one of the foremost philosophers in this field, assumes five epochs, a world plan as he says – reason ruling through instinct, reason ruling through law, emancipation from the authority of reason, reason as science, and reason as art. If this or a similar scheme were to any extent true, then general history would have to follow the road of progress which the human race followed in the indicated direction from one age to the next. The sole subject matter of history would then be the development of such concepts as they appear and manifest themselves in the world of phenomena. But this is by no means the case. For one thing, the philosophers themselves have extraordinarily varied opinions about the nature and selection of these supposedly ruling ideas. But they very wisely focus only on a few peoples in world history while considering the lives of all the rest as nothing, as a mere supplement. Otherwise it could not be hidden for a moment that from the beginning to this day the peoples of the world have been in the most varied conditions.”

We saw earlier that Fichte by no means argued for an uninterrupted road to progress, but we can set that aside as being of secondary importance. The antagonism between Fichte and Ranke runs deeper. Ranke is often associated with the emergence of historicism, and sometimes he is identified as the source of historicism. Ranke even was willing to express his historicism in theological terms when we said that all ages are equidistant from God. With this view of history as consisting of co-equal periods each with their own integrity it would be difficult, though not impossible, to argue for progress. In Characteristics of the Present Age Fichte rejects the view that an age can be assessed on its own terms:

“Should our view of the Present Age prove to have been a view taken from the standing-point of this Age itself, should the eye which has taken this view have been itself a product of the Age which it has surveyed, then has the Age borne witness to itself and such testimony must be set aside.”

Fichte, then, needs some criterion for his view of the present age other than the present age itself, and he finds it in religion:

“…what has been the nature of this theory, considered in its essential elements, and to what chief department of human thought it has belonged? I answer:—It was a Religious Theory; all our contemplations were Religious contemplations, and our view of things, and the eye which embraced that view, were Religious.”

Fichte goes one better and actually gives a definition of religion in the next paragraph:

“RELIGION consists in regarding and recognising all Earthly Life as a necessary development of the one, original, perfectly good and perfectly blessed Divine Life.”

Both Ranke and Fichte, then, invoke theological sanction for their conception of history, though this conception is starkly different, with Ranke taking each age to be sufficient unto itself, and no less related to the divine than any other age, while Fichte took each age to be dependent upon a larger framework for its meaning. While Ranke the historian insists on the individual uniqueness of each age, while Fichte the philosopher sees each age in relation to the whole of which it is a part. It is the task of Fichte’s Characteristics of the Present Age to provide for his contemporaries this larger framework so that they can understand their place in history, which for Fichte means understanding their place in the moral development of humanity.
Even Fichte’s conception of religion and moral development is strikingly abstract, as we find a little further on in the last chapter of Characteristics of the Present Age: “…Religion is nothing external,—it never clothes itself in any outward manifestation.” And, “…True Religion does not manifest itself outwardly, and does not impel man to any course of external conduct which he would not otherwise have adopted, but that it only completes his true Inward Being and dignity.” This is not necessary an orthodox position, and we’ve already seen how Fichte got himself in trouble with authorities with his views on religion.
It would seem strange to call Fichte’s philosophy of history a providential philosophy of history, as it seems to have little in common with, say, St. Augustine, but by Fichte’s own account, his is a pervasively religious perspective, and his philosophy of history is an account of humanity’s progress toward moral perfection. This progress is a purely inward fulfillment, without any observational consequences, again, by Fichte’s own account. I’ve run into this view in one other thinker, and that is Simone Weil. In my episode on Weil I quoted her criticism of providentialism of a kind that I called vulgar providentialism:

“Divine Providence is not a disturbing influence, an anomaly in the ordering of the world; it is itself the order of the world; or rather it is the regulating principle of this universe. It is eternal Wisdom, unique, spread across the whole universe in a sovereign network of relations.”

I think Fichte would have agreed with this, and with the examples of both Fichte and Weil we can see that there is a place within the conceptual space of philosophy of history for what we could call a pure providential philosophy of history, or, if you like, an a priori providentialism.
Ranke’s criticism of Fichte is predicated upon the necessity of a vulgar providentialism that is reflected in the empirical world. But if, as Fichte said, religion is nothing external, and it does not impel man to any course of external conduct, neither should it impel any course of external conduct on the world. This also resolves the paradoxical argument that Angelica Nuzzo found at the heart of Fichte’s philosophy of history, since the bare factual nature of history can be distinguished from the providentialism that can be construed a priori.

Video Presentation

https://youtu.be/T8eIxZi0LrM
https://www.instagram.com/p/C7LPoSKNdPB/
https://odysee.com/@Geopolicraticus:7/j.-g.-fichte-and-a-priori:6

Podcast Edition

https://spotifyanchor-web.app.link/e/73G2BY64JJb
https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/a31b8276-53cd-4723-b6ad-a39c8faa4572/episodes/306a6446-d4d7-4e24-a447-c89fd310d7a2/today-in-philosophy-of-history-j-g-fichte-and-a-priori-providentialism
https://www.iheart.com/podcast/269-today-in-philosophy-of-his-146507578/episode/j-g-fichte-and-a-priori-177816272/
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Bit of a far fetched thing, but since I’ve started Vyvanse I’ve been getting hypothyroid symptoms and recently tested for normal levels besides one being in the subclinical range. Leading to the doctor to presume “subclinical-hypothyroidism”
Has anyone had this experience where the meds were messing with your thyroid production, it’s strange to me but I don’t believe I had any issues with my thyroid before especially given what the current side effects are.
It’s quite disheartening because Vyvanse has really helped me in other ways but would switching to any of the other stimulants have less of an effect on it messing with my thyroid? Or has anyone switched and had say Ritalin or dex IR stop the fluctuating thyroid levels?
It seems a bit rich that all of a sudden I’m having thyroid issues or it was already messed up previously because as I’m aware it’s never been a problem in the past prior to started treatment which leads me to suspect Vyvanse.
Symptoms; (common/uncommon side effects but as a whole point towards something else)

• dry course hair, alopecia, diffuse thinning and eyebrow hair loss (typically a sign of hypo)
  
• difficulty sleeping/nightmares (consistently)
  
• cold sensitivity (especially in the hands)
  
• no consistency day to day on meds (despite being strict w/ diet and supplementation)
  
• fatigue. Muscle/joint soreness (sporadically)
  
• tend to wake up w/ a puffy face/sinus pressure.
  

If anyone has had any experience with these issues, or your thyroid was messing up during ADHD treatment I’d love to hear from you!
Edit: (this is a repost here as I didn’t get any answers on another sub)
I started on 20mg and increased to 30mg at 1 month and have stayed there since.
I understand this isn’t a cure all, and it does come down to working on these things myself. But the main point is I believe it’s effecting my immune system, and 3 months in it’s gotten worse in those particular areas, like the focus of the post being thyroid TSH rising and was wondering if someone in here had experienced this or become diagnosed w/“subclinical-hypothyroidism”, or at least the same side effects that could mimic it. If it’s not common with anyone in the community I guess it shows it could be either a variable of the meds affecting me individually based on my own physiology or is unrelated entirely and is an underlying issue.

WPA – A Completely Average Roadtrip
Disclaimer: Not canon, and I don’t use patreon so please don’t spoil me. Also, any opinion held by a character is that of the characters and not my own. Enjoy.
Town of Ljosalfington, local time 14:00, week 7
Emma Booker
“Again Illunor, I warned you before that this is a utility vehicle, not a party rated smart-limo. I am already compromising more than I should by allowing you to use the sample cooler as a minifridge, one which I can’t even use!” I said as I loaded the materials I had just purchased into the back of the high-G All terrain fusion-ethanol-electric hybrid 24th-century legacy pickup truck that I had printed out earlier this week, carefully avoiding the heavy ordinance hard point.
“That is hardly an excuse for that abysmally cramped leg space barely fit for cattle, never mind the bare minimum for standard decorum suitable for nobility. If this is what a car is like, then I don’t see why you care for your technology,” complained Illunor, who was sitting around idly with a malformed garish bowl of icecream that he had stashed away from lunch.
“If it bothers you so much, perhaps you could help next time with your ‘bigger-on-the-inside’ magic,” I retorted as I slid the last core sample into the back before covering it up with a tarp and strapping it down.
I had originally planned to visit Ljosalfington by myself to acquire much needed exo-materials to test various mana manipulator configurations as I worked to develop my first wand as not all of the materials I needed were procurable locally from Elaseer. I eventually yielded, much to my regret, to allowing Illunor to come with me as he insisted on wanting to deliver a letter personally in town after Thacea had pointed out the wisdom of not travelling alone.
We continued our back and forth for a bit yet as I finished securing my payload a voice called out to me from the direction of the town.
“Excuse me a moment, I couldn’t help but notice but are you from the academy?”
I turned to see an elf dressed in a plain brown buttoned up tunic matched by a slightly shabby pair of trousers with what appeared to be a lute upon his back and a plain and unenchanted longsword on his belt gesturing at our robes. Mine especially were new and unusual, tailored by the academy to go over my armour and allow access to the anchor points and allow me to exit my armour with minimal hassle. Illunor scoffed at what was evidently a commoner’s arrogance at approaching nobility and turned his head away in disgust. I glanced at Illunor and shook my head before turning to face the new man. I had time to spare, and any opportunity to engage in a hearts-and-minds dialogue with the locals outside the bounds of the managed environment of the academy was more than worth the time to chat. Especially as most of the other locals seemed to be content in ignoring me.
“Yes, we are currently studying at the Transgracian Academy. I am Cadet Emma Booker representing the United Nations of Earth and Luna from Earthream, and my aloof compatriot is Lord Illunor Rularia of the Vunerian courts. We were just about to head back but are in no rush. May I ask your name and what brings you by?” I asked with my hand outstretched in greeting.
“Ah yes, yes. My name is Edhel Redoehdelnif, a wandering bard by trade like my father and his father before him. My apologies, Cadet Emma Booker, I am unfamiliar with Earthrealm,” said Edhel as he grasped my hand with both of his and shook it tepidly yet vigorously. Or rather, tried to, as the motors on my suit resisted his efforts.
“News doesn’t seem to spread all that fast around here, so it makes sense you haven’t heard of us. We’re a new realm, and only just got here. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Edhel Redoehdelnif,” I replied.
“Absolutely fascinating! And a knight no less, or perhaps a squire? I’m sure you have many stories to tell of Earthrealm. Say, by chance are you about to head back to the academy? I have business in Elaseer and the usual coach has been absent as of late so I would rather not go it alone,” said Edhel.
I was hesitant to bring a stranger back in the car with me, even if Illunor was present. However, the opportunity that meeting a bard presented was too good to pass up from an intel perspective and to win the favour of the populace at large.
“That is a great idea. I think I have room for one more…” I paused before gesturing towards Illunor, “provided everyone is ok with it that is.”
Illunor gave a huff and turned his head away in silence.
“Very well, I will allow this. But he will not be joining me in your sorry excuse for a coach,” said Illunor dismissively.
Illunor approached the backseat expectantly and the door opened for him automatically, allowing the dlc kobold to gracefully enter and lounge across the length of the seats, once again ignoring the seatbelts. I sighed as I made my way to the driver’s seat, and Edhel entered from the passenger side as he marveled at the automatic doors and the interior.
“What a strange carriage this is! Although I must say, shouldn’t you be retrieving your horses? I didn’t see any harnesses or sense any artifices,” inquired Edhel as he attempted to make himself comfortable on the car seat, lute in front of him.
“Oh no, this thing doesn’t need horses or magic,” I said with a chuckle as EVI started the car. The elf raised his eyebrows at the sudden hum of the engine and made an expression of alarm when the car started driving itself without my input. “See, purrs like a kitten.”
“Earthrealm must have some large kittens if they purr like that,” noted Edhel, “but you must be concealing the enchantments somewhere. Such a thing as this with such strange yet precise craftsmanship is only possible in the crownlands.”
“Nope, no magic,” I said cheerfully.
“Then how?” Asked Edhel.
“It’s rather simple really. Are you familiar with the workings of a mill?” I asked, deciding to keep things surface level and elementary to avoid provoking the IDOV threshold.
“Somewhat, though I confess to not being familiar with their workings. Are you suggesting this is akin to a mill?” Asked Edhel perplexed.
“It’s the same principal. A mill works by taking a source of rotation such as a waterwheel or windmill, transferring that rotation along a series of rotating shafts and interlocking gears, and finally putting that energy to work by rotating a millstone,” I began as the car pulled out onto the smooth cobbled road in the direction of Elaseer. A notification popped up in the corner of my vision indicating my recon drone swarm had shifted from a holding formation to a convoy screening formation, and while the roads were clear I kept the speed at 60km/h to account for my passenger’s apparent distaste for seatbelts.
“Rotation…” muttered Edhel. He turned to face one of the wheels and EVI pinged an alert for a probable match for a detection spell, “fascinating.”
“Edhel, what are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, perhaps I should have asked first. Yes, I can see how it all fits together. But the source of this rotation? I see no mighty river or great wind to power this, so where does it come from?” Asked Edhel, not really apologizing. Elven arrogance, it seemed, was not limited by class.
The act reminded me of Sorecar when he inspected my gun, but where the armourer had been respectful with it, Edhel was more flippant. I considered the possibility that he was a spy sent by one of her peers or the crownlands, though this did not mesh with the methods I had seen so far. Edhel may have been just overly enthusiastic. In either case, I quickly decided to only reveal the antique design for the ethanol engine, and not that of the batteries or the emergency coupler to my suit’s fusion reactor.
“Right, well please ask first next time. As to your question, I won’t bore you with the details, but the rotation is generated by creating a periodic sequence of explosions inside of a machine – a manaless artifice – called a combustion engine, said Emma.
“So that’s what that sound is…” pondered Edhel, “are these artifices typical in Earthream?”
“You are awfully inquisitive for a commoner,” noted Illunor as he inspected his nails for dirt, “and rather accepting of something which should be impossible.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a bard if I wasn’t, my lord,” said Edhel shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “perhaps some music might set the mood better?”
“That would be preferable, bard. I have heard enough of the Earthrealmer’s Road Trip Playlist and would like to listen to some music of real culture,” said Illunor.
The bard agreed and proceeded to awkwardly play a ballad about an adventurer who slew a hydra in some frozen wasteland. Partway through, I politely interrupted the Edhel to point out the seat controls much to his fascination and Illunor’s grumbling at their common nature, and after some adjustment the bard went on playing and I half-heartedly listened while I paid attention to the road and my drone feed.
Particularly after EVI detected something unusual and alerted me to its presence.
”Attention Caded Booker. There is a disabled vehicle blocking the primary route to destination. Heat signatures in the woods are consistent with that of an ambush.”
“Damn it,” I muttered.
I glanced at the drone feed to see a broken cart strewn horizontally across a wooden bridge over a brook. On the surface it looked like a pair of civilians who required aid and assistance, but off in the woods were several heat signatures, several of which held weapons of varying levels of enchantments. Occasionally one of the pair on the bridge would talk with them, suggesting they were in cahoots rather than hostages. I recalled crossing that very bridge not a few hours earlier, so the blockade was very recent.
“EVI, did we pass that cart on the way here?” I asked.
”Negative,” replied EVI.
I grimaced. I had been trained to handle road-side ambushes, but it was only something that was a theoretical possibility. Something that should only occur in a warzone or a corrupt and unstable polity. I knew I had the capacity to handle such an encounter, even non-lethally, but that didn’t change the fact that these were civilians and as such were the responsibility of local law enforcement. Combined with the fact that I had passengers I was responsible for and engaging the ambush was a risky option.
“EVI, give me a list of alternative routes,” I commanded.
”Affirmative. Here is a list of routes in order of recommendation,” replied EVI.
I looked over the routes superimposed on a map of the region and quickly dismissed taking a shortcut through the forest and cutting through farmland. A detour caught my eye that extended the journey by roughly ten kilometers and I immediately sent a pair of drones to scout it out before committing to the detour.
“Are you alright, Cadet Emma Booker? You seem distracted,” asked Edhel, snapping me back to reality.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just focused on driving,” replied Emma.
“I suppose it must be quite taxing to command an artificed carriage of this complexity. Perhaps it might ease your mind if you were to regale me a tale of a hero of your realm?” Said Edhel, strumming a complex tune from his lute as he spoke as each and every pluck triggered a low-level spell.
“Well, that may be a problem. We don’t have any monsters to fight, and wars are a thing of the past,” I said while desperately tip-toeing the subject of aunt Ran, the subject of war, and our voyages through the cosmos, “though we are not without the adventurous spirit. We certainly have many stories of grand voyages. Some mythical and fictional such as The Odyssey as told by the Greek poet Homer and some historical such as the race to the south pole.”
“The south pole,” muttered the bard, “so you have explored all of Earthrealm then? I suppose that makes some sense, if you have artifices such as this then traversal of a globe would be quite manageable.”
“You are quite perceptive,” I said, not wishing to elaborate.
“A great performer knows his audience,” said Edhel with a charming, honest, almost human smile.
I felt a pang of homesickness as an intrusive thought reminded me that I could have gone to a real college surrounded by friendly faces my age, engaging in nightly holostreams and dreaming of adventures in the stars from the safety of a college dorm room. The sight of Illunor in the rear camera was the only thing that kept me grounded, as I almost felt like I was back at home on a road trip rather than returning to a fantasy feudal court, constantly evading death at every turn with the fate of humanity on the line. As such, and prompted by EVI, I barely had the wherewithal to take the planned detour.
A fact which did not pass by Edhel.
“I believe you may have taken a wrong turn, Emma,” he commented.
“Nah, I’m just taking the scenic route. I came from that direction on the way here, and you have inspired me to see the other road and I figure it should only add a few extra minutes to our travel time,” I said, gesturing at a paper map which I had referenced exactly once, “though on that subject, you seem to know these lands quite well. Do you have any recommendations on places to visit in the Nexus to scratch that itch?”
Illunor raised his eyebrow at the detour excuse, knowing full well this was not part of the plan. I worried that he might complain about the issue and but thankfully remained silent as he snacked on the contents of the misused sample storage unit. Edhel himself took on a more pensive posture.
“I’m happy to have been such an inspiration, Emma, though I am sure an explorer such as yourself has little need of such. I would normally suggest the skyward fountains of Verdellan or the cloud tides of Asturia, but that may be too casual for someone of your calibre. Perhaps the severed chasm or the fire marsh of Bhandahova may be more to your liking. Or perhaps…” Edhel leaned in, “I have heard rumours of a dragon in the glassy obsidian wastes of Vurcanar.”
I chuckled at that, knowing how I was fortunate enough to fish a dragon scale out of the nearby lake for the ECS. “The thought of going dragon hunting had certainly crossed my mind…” I mused aloud.
“Yet you sound hesitant. Perhaps it is too much for a newrealmer. Perhaps a slime or a dire rat might be more appropriate,” he said with a tease.
“No, it’s not like that! It’s” I stammered, before attempting to change course after realizing I had been goaded, “what I mean is, I was under the impression that dragons were an endangered species. Where I come from, hunting endangered animals is usually illegal, and big game hunting in general is frowned upon. We do make exceptions in the case of problem animals such as if a large predator starts hunting humans, but as a rule we prefer conservation and try to find ways of coexisting with wildlife such as the use of barrier fences and scaring away dangerous animals rather than being forced to cull their numbers. Having a species go extinct would prevent future generations from appreciating them and risks destabilizing the ecosystem they are a part of. Now if this dragon was actively razing villages and eating civilians and livestock, that would be one thing, but this does not look to be the case. I don’t imagine the Nexus has any settlements in this wasteland, and the dragon clearly wants to be left alone. Killing an innocent dragon would be murder.”
I grinned to myself after delivering a diatribe that would have made my tenth grade social and environmental studies teacher beam with pride, though by the expressions of my passengers my view did not appear to be shared. Edhel’s mouth was agape in shock and fascination, while the Venurian in the back seat merely huffed in disapproval.
“I assure you Newrealmer, there are no innocent dragons,” stated Illunor with a hint of terseness breaking through his otherwise regal demeanor.
“Illunor, I understand that Venurians have personal reasons for not liking dragons, but you can’t just extend that disdain to their descendants or those uninvolved just because they are the same species,” I said.
“If I may interject on your behalf, my lord, I believe I can address Cadet Emma Booker’s concerns,” said Edhel with a bow. Illunor nodded in approval.
“Very well, you may proceed,” he said.
“Thank you, my lord. My dear Emma, you must understand that dragons are not simple animals driven entirely off of instinct as it appears to be the case in Earthrealm. They are monsters. Intelligent, long-lived, violent, greedy, cruel, territorial, selfish flesh-eating monsters. They are evil by the very nature of their being, unable to change by their own accord, and unwilling to change when His Eternal Majesty offered them freedom from their nature. It isn’t that they want to be evil. As intelligent animals – intelligent monsters – dragons are capable of understanding morality, and many have tried to overcome their evil nature at great expense to themselves. A well intended and noble sentiment, yet a doomed one as like all animals, they all succumb to their nature in the end. Overcoming one’s nature is impossible,” said Edhel. His eyes took on a stoic, almost remorseful gaze as he spoke, and Illunor nodded with approval.
I was appalled by this claim, not by the contents so much as how blatantly false it was. As a representative of the human race, I was a living counterexample to his whole argument. We had remained physiologically unchanged as a species since the last Ice Age, and yet in spite of that, in spite of our many flaws, we had found peace and balance. If we could do it, anyone could do it.
“Will all due respect Edhel, that is nonsense. Monsters aren’t born, they are made. It is the mark of any intelligent species can adapt their behaviour to their environment for better or worse, and under the right care any so-called monster can grow to be a force for good,” I began, but while I searched for the right words Edhel shook his head.
“I appreciate your race is an empathetic one, Emma, your idealism is unfounded. As flesh eaters, a dragon must take the life of another animal or person to survive, or they will perish. As such, every dragon has taken a life. As long-lived creatures, they will have amassed a significant number of kills. As the land can only support so much animals, a dragon must be fiercely territorial and aggressive to remove competition, lest they starve. As such, even the most kind-hearted dragon alive must be violent and greedy, and their intelligence fuels this even more so if they know a bountiful land of morsels exists just outside their range.
Now perhaps a multitude of dragons may find a way to co-exist together in some settlement, but to support such a venture would require a large territory of prey, or a livestock animal. Perhaps they could support a large colony by farming grain for their livestock, but that would require effort on their behalf. As large animals, such efforts require a great deal of energy. Yet that size makes it easy for them to intimidate smaller races to do their labour for them, and to keep their client race in line dragons must be cruel. And even so, as their numbers grow so do their needs. As such, they must expand into the lands of their neighbours to survive until there is nothing left to devour, at which point they must turn against their own lest they starve. As such, it is the nature of dragons to conquer and devour. That is why there is no such thing as an innocent dragon,” finished Edhel.
I was speechless, not because I believed Edhel had a point, but because I was horrified at how easy he found it to rationalize the extermination of an entire sapient species. If this was how the elves thought, then it wasn’t the dragons who were the monsters. I suppressed that dark thought. Edhel’s thought process was a product of his culture, not a feature of his elven heritage. If there was any hope of peace between our people, I needed to show him there was another way of being. I needed to prove that co-existence was possible, no matter one’s nature.
I took a deep breath to steady myself before replying.
“That- that is a callous way of seeing things,” I began, though the shock was still there in my voice, “you speak as though there is no natural equilibrium with a dragon, that their only state of being must be to be cruel, to devour, to conquer. But I see things differently. In fact, I might wonder if a fledgling civilization might see the presence of a dragon as a boon rather than a curse. Being intelligent, the locals may be able to come to some agreement with the dragon. Perhaps they might leave some land as a hunting ground or offer up a share of their cattle or guard the dragon as it sleeps. In exchange, the dragon might allow them to build a town outside its mountain and protect them in times of danger. An equitable exchange. A civilization might even create artificial lairs to attract dragons for this very reason. True, some dragons may behave tyrannical towards their town, but a well armed populace of a large city would be more than capable of fighting such a threat, and a rational dragon might reason that threatening their own populace would put their reliable source of food and shelter at risk. You see, it’s all a matter of perspective.”
“You certainly are an imaginative one, Emma, to wonder up a quixotic world where the hare and the fox live together in harmony as equals. Even so, you seem to have ignored one key detail to such a society. What would happen should the dragon not be fed for months on end?” Asked Edhel with his eyebrow raised.
“The same thing as stranded a dozen starving, stranded Elves!” I spat back.
[Alert: Vehicle speed above recommended limit for conditions. Recommendation: slow down. ]
“I am driving slow!” I seethed, not realizing I had sped up with manual control enabled.
“I grow tired of this common prattle,” interjected Illunor just in time to prevent an awkward silence, “bard, play us another song.” “As my lord wishes,” said Edhel with a bow before turning to me with another smile, “perhaps a more soothing melody would be in order? A love song perhaps, to honour Cadet Booker’s compassionate nature?”
I said nothing as Edhel began to strum his lute again to the tune of a love story of a pair of doomed lovers named Ramian and Junette, hating his cheeky knowing grin that only served to get under my skin further as I focused on calming down and slowing the car back to a more reasonable pace before investigating a priority alert which I had been blinded to moments prior.
[Alert: hostile roadblock is absent, location unknown.]
Shit.
“Illunor, we may have a problem,” I said.
“Shush, Newrealmer, have you no class? We are almost at the best part! I’m sure it can wait,” replied the contextually clueless lizard.
I had never wanted to throttle Illunor as much as I did now.
“Illunor, shield, now,” I said with a raised voice.
“I don’t see-“ he started, pausing mid-sentence as his ears perked up.
[Alert: Multiple manafield and spell signatures detected!]
I took evasive maneuvers as Illunor tried to piece together a shield spell, fumbling it twice as panic appeared to set in and providing me with a reminder that Illunor was a civilian, not a soldier. A hail of arrows pelted the exterior of the truck, piercing but not penetrating the composite armour. I was tempted to do nothing but just drive away from the arrow fire, but a foreboding premonition of danger filled me as I recalled Sorecar’s hunter-seeker arrows.
Seeking to avoid that fate, I triggered the active defenses.
The smoke screens deployed around the vehicle, obscuring the sight of any who depended on visible light to see me. A barrage of decoy flares equipped with wooden cores shot upward at angles and diffusing to the side like a pair of giant wings which when combined with the MFD, short for mana-field dampener, inside the vehicle meant that the pelting hail of arrowfire softened to a whirr as the arrows whiffed over the top of the truck, retargeted away from the soft flesh of my passengers and even invoking friendly fire amongst the ambushers.
In the chaos, EVI and my drone swarm fed me complete tactical information on the ambush. Of the 26 individuals at the first blockade, 20 were accounted for, and 3 had died from friendly fire. Ahead at the bridge, 5 more of them were at the bridge where a barrier had been hastily erected to cage me in as the river valley was too deep to cross.
“Illunor, we need a bridge,” I said, taking stock of the wellbeing of my passengers.
The bard was huddled down low and suppressing his manafield, but otherwise rather composed. Illunor, on the other hand, was cowering in the gap between the seats with his hands covering his eyes and his tail tucked in.
“A bridge is no small request, Ne- Cadet Emma Booker,” replied Illunor, “and your ‘Emeffdee’ has blinded me to the outside of this moving death trap.”
“If I drop it, can you at least make a ramp?” I asked as I circled the battlefield. Or tried to, at least, as earthen ramparts emerged from the ground from a yet unseen source to cut off other avenues of escape.
“A ramp? Surely you don’t mean-“ he stammered.
“Yes or no,” I said.
Illunor paused, before taking an unsteady breath.
“Yes. But not with that Emeffdee,” he replied.
“Good. Steady your nerves and prepare to make a ramp ahead of us on my signal,” I said, “in the meantime, get your seatbelt on. This is going to be hairy.”
As I circled around to make my approach on the bridge, the final combatant made his appearance on a nearby tree, revealing himself as an elven mage. An alert focused on the air around him indicating he was preparing an unknown high-tier spell, and I locked the predator drone on him indicating the elf as a high-priority target if our escape plan failed, and I was forced to use lethal force.
If I was forced to kill.
It was one thing to know you may have to kill in the line of duty, but it was much harder to reconcile that with reality. No number of simulations could match the real thing, and a part of me wanted to simply offload the responsibility to EVI to keep my hands clean, but to do that would be betraying my duty as a human being. I breathed in deep and tried not to think about it, instead hoping to rely on the ace I held in my sleeve instead.
“EVI, ready the spell jammer,” I said unevenly.
“Acknowledged, the prototype Exo-Radiation Wave-Field Distruptor is primed. High risk target identified and locked, permission to engage?” EVI asked, forcing me to address the dreaded question.
“Negative,” I replied, “hold your fire. If the ramp fails, then you have permission to engage,” I said.
“Affirmative, on your mark,” replied EVI.
I lined up the truck with the bridge and bolted through the smoke, keeping a careful eye on the mage as I went. His spellform took on a more concerning shape as I accelerated, and I realized I could not afford to let him finish his spell. I triggered the spelljammer.
A terrible roar erupted from an array of speakers printed from mana-resistant materials that would have made Godzilla herself beam with pride. The sound was decidedly unnatural, gnarly, dubstep drop composed of an electric eel, a whale, a mountain lion, and a tyrannosaurus rex all being simultaneously assaulted by a swarm of angry cybernetic murder hornets as an equally chaotic wave of mana blasted outwards from the exterior of the truck, with the interior thankfully sheltered by audio and mana dampening.
The ambushing assailants cowered and panicked, and it was enough to cause the Elven mage’s spell to backfire in his face as his form exploded into ashes, meeting a horrific fate which I had tried so desperately to help him avoid. With all the combatants momentarily incapacitated or dead, I lowered the dampener and turned off the smoke.
“Ramp!” I shouted, snapping the lizard back to reality.
The Venerian nodded and hastily formed an earthwork ahead of us right before the blockade, and the truck leapt off the ramp with a not insignificant amount of air beneath our wheels. I braced for impact, regretting skimping on the shocks in the name of preserving materials, but the impact never came.
[Alert: Friendly spell designated ‘Feather Fall’]
Illunor thankfully had enough wherewithal to gently land the steel brick, and I sped off into the distance away from the trap that had unfolded behind us, leaving the interior of the truck in an awkward silence as we each processed our brush with death in our own way. “How many are dead?” I asked EVI.
“6 hostiles confirmed dead,” replied EVI.
I drove on in silence. Those were six deaths I had tried to avoid, and I became lost in thought as I wondered what I should have done differently to avoid the confrontation entirely.
Edhel broke the silence with a bout of laughter.
“Terrific! Absolutely terrific! Why, I can conjure up many a tale from this encounter alone! I live for this kind of inspiration!” Exclaimed Edhel a little too chipperly considering the circumstance.
“I would rather not hear stories about how I bravely ran away,” I moaned in deadpan sarcasm.
“You think too little of yourself, Cadet Emma Booker. It is plain to me that you are no ordinary rabbit. Make no mistake, I see it as a privilege to bear witness to the roar of a vorpal hare!” Said Edhel as he supressed his laughter, “though I am afraid with all the excitement that I must finish my song some other time.”
“How about I play some of our music?” I offered after the elf revealed his thrill-seeking side.
“Splendid, I would like that. Perhaps something of your ‘Roadtrip playlist’ you speak of? It sounds like a collection of your voyages,” said Edhel.
“That would be an improvement on the truth,” said Illunor dismissively as he eased from his state of shock, “it is little more than noise under the pretense of music.”
“Illunor…” I muttered to myself before turning the mic on, “no, no it’s not like that. I have terabytes of pre-recorded songs from various artists back home which can be played by… an artifice called a speaker. A playlist is a set of songs which are grouped together, usually to listen to in specific situations such as studying, partying, or travelling. The latter collection is what Illunor is referring to.”
I very deliberately chose not to reveal my ‘Unfortunate Daughters’ playlist.
“An artifice which plays music, and a magicless one at that. I must say, Emma, I fear for the bards in your realm,” said Edhel with a laugh.
“Your fear is misplaced, Edhel. Entertainers live like kings where I come from,” I retorted with a smirk of my own, “well, the ones with talent at least.”
“Well, well, I suppose I have to hear my competition!” Said Edhel with a laugh.
“Do as you must, though let it be known that I warned you,” said Illunor as he watched a play on his sightseer.
I had EVI compile a list of songs that left out content offensive to Nexian sensibilities or violating OpSec and as it compiled I mused over what type of sample spread I wanted to show off. Then it struck me. What better way to show off our culture than with some good old blue jumpers and nova rock! Sadly, jumpers were unavailable to show but I still had a whole list of modern artists to choose from.
Moments later, the car speakers sprung to life to the tune of ‘Innocent Youth of Mine. Edhel’s eyes lit up like a child visiting a zero-g gravity park for the first time, seemingly star-struck by the antique electric guitar and the synthesizer-drums in particular.
“What… what is this? I have never heard anything like this!” Proclaimed Edhel.
“Dreadful, isn’t it?” said Illunor, doing what he did best and pretending to hate it.
“Oh there is a lot more where that came from,” I said with a cheeky grin of my own, “this one is called ‘Innocent Youth of Mine’ by ‘Cannons and Poppies’. It’s part of the Nova Rock genre.
“And those strange instruments?” Asked Edhel.
“Oh, you mean the electric guitar and the synthesizer. They are electronic instruments, taking advantage of channeled and modulated electricity to create near any sound we can imagine,” I replied.
“Channeled electricity… are you suggesting these sounds were made by some form of lightning?” Asked Edhel.
[Suggestion: Avoid topic of electricity due to OpSec risk]
I nodded at EVI’s warning, thankful that it caught me before I discussed the very thing that all of my equipment ran on.
“It’s not exactly lightning, but close enough,” I said.
“If I had not witnessed to your display of power earlier, I might have perhaps been more skeptical of such a claim, but I suppose a lady must keep her secrets.” said Edhel with a raised eyebrow and chuckle, “but I digress, this music is most interesting.”
“There is a lot more where that came from,” I said with a cheeky grin of my own.
“If I ever have a prisoner in need of torture, I will turn to you first,” replied Illunor, “if you are willing to subject your peers to this madness then I cannot imagine what you would force upon your enemies before dunking them in ice.”
“In your dreams,” I retorted.
I played a few other songs including Astrodesee’s ‘Meteor Struck’, the Martian classic ‘Hotel Cydonia’ and even ‘Switching to Warp’ before Elaseer emerged from the distance, and I pulled up outside the gate to drop Edhel off.
“Here already?” Asked Edhel.
“Well, yeah. I was just running a quick errand, I didn’t want to go too far,” I replied casually.
“That was a distance worth at least five days of walking by foot, and you call that a ‘quick errand’?” Asked Edhel. I shrugged, and he laughed.
“Well in any case, thank you for allowing me passage in your car. I must apologize for my lack of gift or payment…” said Edhel. “Don’t worry about it, it was on the way,” I replied.
“I see, how generous. Perhaps we might one day meet again?” Asked Edhel.
“Maybe, but I’m not sure how likely that is. The academy takes up most of my time,” I replied, “though you never know. I still have a lot of quest hours to complete.”
“Is that so? In that case, I hope we meet again! Goodbye Cadet Emma Booker and farewell Lord Illunor Rularia,” he said. “And good travels to you, bard,” said Illunor.
I waved off Edhel and drove back to the academy, Illunor still sulking in the back seat.
“Perhaps next time, you should steer us away from danger?” Suggested Illunor.
“I tried, but we were tracked,” I replied.
I groaned inwardly at the additional work needed to fix the truck. EVI compiled a list of upgrades for future engagements, batting away my idea for a ‘turbo mode’ and a ‘jump boost’. Though at the end of the day, meeting the bard wasn’t a complete loss. It felt good to talk to someone almost normal for once, and I hoped I met him again.
Edhel Redoehdelnif
I watched as Cadet Emma Booker’s vehicle went off into the distance, getting one last look at the Earthrealmer’s strange artifice before turning towards the gate. The voyage was an exotic experience, not unlike that of a fever dream or a peak into a world completely alien to my own. Indeed, it was a struggle to contain my excitement and enthusiasm and process the experience rationally as I made my way through the southern gates of Elaseer and turned the corner of an alley before entering an impossible structure that did not exist.
“You are earlier than expected,” said the shadowy figure of my handler as I made my way to the meeting hall.
“The Earthrealmer’s means of transportation proved far more expedient than anticipated, my lord” I spoke as I knelt before him, “even with her unexpected departure from the anticipated road and the ambush we traveled for scantly more than an hour.”
“Yes, I will require a full report from you. Perhaps you can shed some light on the ‘smoke dragon’ my men claim intervened on the Earthrealmer’s behalf,” said my handler.
“Smoke Dragon, my lord?” I asked.
My handler responded by activating his sight-seer, revealing how the ambush had appeared from the outside. The Earthrealmer’s uncanny artifice traversed down the road, a pair of manafields displaying proudly from within until the archers began their assault. The artifice then transformed as smoke billowed out from its pores and wings sprung forth above until it was the form of a mighty wrym with a pair of glowing eyes springing forth from its ever extending head where it then gave forth a terrible unholy roar which sent waves of mana outward. The mage working to seal the area and trap their mark vapourized in an instant as his spell backfired. It was apparent to Edhel that his exceptional experience in the carriage was merely a muted rendition of the events unfolding around them.
It would seem the hare had the shadow of a dragon.
“I do have some insight, though I must confess the Earthrealmer did very little in the way of direct action. I suspect she has some unseen means of commanding and scrying through her artifices,” I said, “one which does not utilize magic as we know it.”
“Such a statement is heresy,” said my handler, “but such special circumstances are your reason for being. I will require you submit your memories for verification. What is your appraisal of the new realmer?”
“The girl is far more dangerous than a surface appraisal would suggest, though she prefers to conceal that power rather than utilize it out of a misplaced sense of compassion. Her people appear to have a boundless creative drive through which such artifices are birthed, though again it is misdirected towards more common applications. I believe that if properly tamed, this human animal may provide us with great works of art,” I said with a bow.
“I see. Does the girl know you work for us?” Asked my handler.
“She may harbour some suspicions, though did not voice them outright beyond concealing her knowledge,” I said, “though nothing significant. Provided our next meet is under believable circumstances such as a festival she should view me as cordial.”
“She has indeed proven clever,” conceded my handler, “very well, I will make arrangements for your paths to cross again. Perhaps I will arrange for her to be a contestant at the next inter-academy tournament. In the mean time, prepare your report and don’t wander far. This is a priority assignment.”
“As you wish, my lord,” I said with a bow and a smile.
Emma Booker had proved to be an interesting animal indeed, and I hoped our paths crossed again.

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Chapter 3
Location: Somewhere outside of Tiste lands the northernmost Jaghut keep
POV: Korya Delath
Korya Delath is hostage to Haut, a Jaghut. Korya is of the lesser house Delack in the tiste settlement Abara. From the aerie in the keep she can see the contested lands, which have nothing to contest about them. Haut keeps her isolated and forbids her from leaving the keep. He does not quite understand the idea of hostages and took it upon himself to educate Korya. He is harsh. Korya spent a lot of time in the Aerie pretending to be a goddess to her dolls. Now those dolls are kept in boxes.
She is alarmed by a group of Jheleck approaching the keep defying the prohibitions for crossing into Jaghut territory, even though they no longer claim any territory. The Jheleck are said to be kin to the Jheck of the far south, but much larger. They were the size of warhorses and possessed a sorcery she knew only as Soletaken. Although she doesn't know what that means. She sees Haut open the gate in his full armor. She had no idea he had any martial proclivities. The Jheleck blur and in their place stand several warriors. Haut yells up at her that they have guests.
Haut has no one in his household but him and Korya. He is capable of conjuring food and drink through sorcery, but prefers not to. Korya learned how to make food, chop wood, and mend clothes in the absence of servants. She thinks that he dislikes the company of people and that is why they are alone. Although she does not understand why he agreed to take her as hostage if that is the case. Jaghut used to live in cities until they came upon the realization that civilization is "economic suicide". Resources are not infinite, but a civilization can try to be. "There was nothing so deadly as success."- Haut. The Lord of Hate is the one who exposed this truth to the Jaghut and because of it they live solitary lives and no longer try to build up their civilization.
The Jheleck brought freshly killed meat with them and in Haut's main hall ate it raw. Haut joins in. Korya is put off balance by this, but studies the scene to attempt to make sense of the gathering. The Jheleck speak the Jaghut language, as does Korya. They call Haut Captain and Haut warns them not to anger Korya. He has never seen her angry, but continues to try to bring it out of her by being harsh. After several jokes about her, Korya asks to be excused and is surprised to hear that it's not possible as the Jheleck are here for her. Korya is very confused.
The Jheleck call Haut Captain, but hostages aren't given to soldiers only noble families. The Jheleck bring up that Haut has no army or houseblades. This is somewhat of a threat. Haut responds by saying that he needs no armies. The Jaghut just destroy their enemies. When Jheleck would raid Jaghut lands, the Jaghut would kill some of them and drive them off, however if they came in greater numbers then the Jaghut would then stop playing nice. They want to return Korya to her home. In their defeat the Jheleck signed a treaty that demands hostages from the Jheleck to the Tiste. They are trying to return Korya to fulfill that treaty. Haut says it does not work that way. Sagral gets angry and demands that Korya leave with them. She doesn't want to and says, "Does this one need a leash?" The joke diffuses the situation.
The tiste have asked for 50 Jheleck hostages. The Jheleck are worried due to the rumors of civil war. Haut tells them that hostages are sacrosanct in war. The Jheleck sense that Korya is empty and is not a child of Mother Dark. Haut confirms this and says he has fashioned a mahybe. "A vessel. Protected, sealed and, as you say, empty. What remains to be done? Why, its filling, of course" Haut dismisses the Jheleck and says if they don't leave he may just kill them all. They, shaken by this and depart.
Location: House of Delack
POV: Lady Nerys Drukorlat
Lady Nerys Drukorlat looks upon her grandson Orfantal as he plays in the dirt. She wishes to end his childhood as soon as possible so he can learn to be the heir of the failing house of Delack and return it to glory. Orfantal is a bastard. Lady Nerys knows that isn't his fault. She recalls a quote from Gallan's latest work, "The wounded will wound / and every hurt is remembered." She looks at his work as revealing unpleasant truths about the Tiste. Others do not. When Orfantal plays at being in war, his play always ends with an unseen betrayer killing him from behind. She blames soldiers returning from war. "Veterans returned home with all illusions scoured from their eyes, their minds. They looked out from a different place, but there was nothing healthy in that, nothing worthy." Lady Nerys's husband was one such soldier. Who upon a heroic return confessed the above to his wife before killing himself and leaving his house in shame.
Another soldier who lost his arm from a horse bite had found Sandalath Drukorlat, Lady Nerys's daughter, and seduced her resulting in the birth of Orfantal. Once Lady Nerys had discovered this, she paid him to never see his son or Sandalath ever again. He accepted. Sandalath though older and having already been a hostage, is now to be a hostage again to her dismay. Her mother will not allow her to say goodbye to her son. Her first stint as a hostage was with House Purake, this time it will be with House Dracons. Orfantal is to go to Kharkanas and be in the retinue of the House of Purake. Not a hostage. Ivis has arrived at House Delack to retrieve Sandalath. She enters the carriage and they depart.
POV: Orfantal
Orfantal watched his mother's carriage leave. He doesn't like to see people cry and tries to prevent it from happening. He understands that, "There were wars and that’s all there was, and every day he died, taken by that knife that followed him across the whole world, just as it had done to his grandfather."
POV: Sandalath
Sandalath thought she saw Orfantal by the stables as her carriage moved away, but she is not confident in what her mind sees so is uncertain. It's very hot in the carriage, but because her mother has instilled in her the virtue of not causing a scene she does not ask the driver to open a window. She fondly recalls her time as hostage in the citadel with the Purake brothers. Always feeling safe with them and loving them each in turn. Well maybe not Silchas. The war took the brothers and their father away and when the father returned broken she began to fear that the brothers would die. House Drukorlas had been devastated by the war and was now in poverty.
Galdan was the one-armed soldier who spoke of a romantic and adventurous war and Sandalath had relayed these stories to her son. Lady Nerys had told her daughter that she had exiled Galdan to Jaghut lands and he had died. Sandalath told her son that Galdan died from a betrayal while he defended his wounded lord. As the carriage trundled through the village, Sandalath thought she saw Galdan, but attributed it to the heat in the carriage. She passed out from the heat and the carriage stopped.
POV: Ivis
Ivis enters the carriage and pulls an unconscious Sandalath out. If Sandalath dies in House Dracons care, other families would use it as an excuse to gain advantage over Draconus. Ivis pays the carriage driver to take off and threatens him with death if this story gets out. Ivis's men get Sandalath's strongbox open. Not sure why maybe to see if she has lighter clothes, but discover that it is filled with jars of river stones from the Dorssan Ryl. It was a way to avow love for another person. Give them a stone from the Dorssan Ryl.
Sandalath wakes up and notices that many layers of her clothing have been removed and that Ivis has the key to her strongbox that is usually around her neck. Ivis lies and says it was constricting her neck and that no one looked in the strongbox although it is very heavy. He says he has a daughter and that he knows young women have a lot of toiletries.
POV: Galdan
"Proper men had two arms for good reason. One to reach for things, the other to keep things away. Galdan had lost the arm that kept things away" This applied to the drink and to Sandalath. After she had been taken away from him he began leaving stones for her in their secret places. He assumed she threw them away.
Location: Outskirts of Hust Forge
POV: Galar Baras
Galar Baras contemplating the Forulkan reveals that their priests were called Assail. "Peace did not serve order; order served peace" The Forulkan worshipped order and confused it for peace and justice. Order became a prison and those who sought freedom became the enemy. The south borderswords were the first to fight the Forulkan and they became the Hust legion. Hust swords had a fearful heartline that was reinforced by the forgemasters. This heartline gives the blades their voice. Galar Baras is obsessed with Hust swords and believes they are an expression of a unique sorcery. After the borderswords had defended the Hust forge from a Forulkan assault, Hust Henarald had rewarded them with Hust blades.
Galar Baras is riding with the commander of the Purake houseblades, Kellaras. When Nimander returned from war and Mother Dark had blessed him and his house for its service, House Purake turned over it's lands to Mother dark and became her vassals. They now took the name Andii, Children of Night. Anomander and house Purake were the first to relieve the borderswords in the battle of the forge and Anomander bestowed great honor upon them by going to their commander Toras Redone and clasping her forearm. From that day the borderswords consider themselves Andiian, sons and daughters of night. This sent a fracture between Urusander's legion and the Hust legion.
In a drunken comment Toras Redone had told Galar Baras that "Peace had become a disaster". Galar is unable to drink alcohol. That night they became lovers. The next day they were not brave enough to continue. Soon after she had sent Galar to Kharkanas to be the Hust legion's representative in the city. Toras is married to Calat Hustain, the man who had given Galar his hust sword. Calat had accepted the command of the wardens and was now far away from his wife. After a miserably lengthy time within the citadel, Galar was now returning to Hust forge both anticipating and dreading seeing the woman he loved.
POV: Kellaras
Kellaras and Galar Baras do not talk much and Kellaras has been told by the members of Urusander's legion in the citadel that Hust swords poison their owners. He's starting to believe it. Galar Baras was not liked in the Citadel. He did not mix with others and remained a mystery to most of them. Kellaras had been given a message to take to Hust Henarald by Anomander. Galar Baras insisted on escorting him to the Hust Legion. Kellaras took this as an insult. He required no escort. Out of the blue Galar Baras asks him a question about the urgency of the message. Kellaras takes it as an opportunity to ask why he insisted on the escort. Galar Baras confides in him that he just wanted to get out of the citadel and felt crushed by it. Kellaras takes this to heart and orders him to continue to escort him so he will not have to return to the citadel. Kellaras now confides in Galar Baras that Anomander intends to commission a sword from Henarald Hust.

Wheat is the basis of our diet. World Celiac Day, May 16, is an opportunity to take stock of its involvement in several pathologies. Wheat allergy, gluten sensitivity or intolerance, how to navigate it? A gastroenterologist helps us see things more clearly.

Celiac disease (gluten intolerance)

Its causes
This autoimmune disease specifically linked to gluten (notably gliadin ) occurs in a genetically predisposed area . We also talk about gluten intolerance.

Its symptoms

Celiac disease can begin at any age, including in the elderly (20% of people affected are over 60 years old) and affects women more frequently than men.
The diagnostic assessment is less and less often carried out (less than 20% of cases) in the face of classic manifestations: weight loss, bloating, diarrhea, deficiencies, etc. It is most often carried out in the face of non-specific digestive symptoms, symptoms extra digestive (sterility, alopecia, early or severe osteoporosis, recurrent mouth ulcers), or even biological abnormalities (iron deficiency anemia, liver problems, etc.).

The treatment

Strict exclusion of gluten (wheat, spelled, wheat, kamut, rye, barley) for life.
Oatsare tolerated if they are certified gluten-free .

Wheat allergyWheat allergy

Its causesIts causes
Different proteins contained in wheat can cause an allergy: albumins, globulins and gliadins and glutenins (gluten proteins).
Its symptomsIts symptoms
In infants, it can manifest in a chronic form, such as enteropathy, with symptoms similar to those of celiac disease: weight loss, abdominal pain, bloating. ..
In children, various symptoms occur within 2 to 4 hours after ingestion, often within the first year of life. They are similar to those of a classic food allergy : burning and itching in the mouth, rhinoconjunctivitis, eczema, skin rashes, abdominal pain, vomiting, diarrhea, and even in severe forms anaphylactic shock.
In adolescents and adults, wheat allergy generally takes a particular form which results in symptoms which only appear when the ingestion of wheat is associated with rather intense physical effort, or after taking alcohol or anti-inflammatories. They are varied: digestive disorders, generalized urticaria, difficulty breathing, even anaphylactic shock.
The treatmentThe treatment
In children: elimination of wheat, rye, barley and oats. After the age of 16, 96% of adolescents become tolerant and recover.
In the case of exercise-related allergy: no consumption of wheat in the 4 to 5 hours before or after significant physical exercise.

Non-celiac wheat sensitivity (gluten sensitivity)Non-celiac wheat sensitivity (gluten sensitivity)

Its causesIts causes
It has no clearly defined basis at the moment. The following are implicated: gluten, ATIs (amylase/trypsin inhibitors) and fructans (which are fermentable carbohydrates falling into the category of FODMAPs.
The diagnosis is only made after elimination of wheat allergy and celiac disease.
Its symptomsIts symptoms
Sensitivity to wheat combines:

• digestive signs :abdominal pain, diarrhea, bloating, etc.,
• extradigestive signs :significant fatigue, particularly after a meal, joint and sometimes muscle pain, skin rash (eczema, etc.).

The treatmentThe treatment
After the elimination of celiac disease and wheat allergy (essential condition), start with a strict gluten-free diet (wheat, rye, barley, oats) for 6 weeks, to confirm the diagnosis in case of disappearance of symptoms.
Then, reintroduction, starting with foods containing traces of gluten and, depending on tolerance, with very gradually increasing quantities, each person having to find their tolerance threshold.

Wheat is the basis of our diet. World Celiac Day, May 16, is an opportunity to take stock of its involvement in several pathologies. Wheat allergy, gluten sensitivity or intolerance, how to navigate it? A gastroenterologist helps us see things more clearly.

Celiac disease (gluten intolerance)

Its causes
This autoimmune disease specifically linked to gluten (notably gliadin ) occurs in a genetically predisposed area . We also talk about gluten intolerance.

Its symptoms

Celiac disease can begin at any age, including in the elderly (20% of people affected are over 60 years old) and affects women more frequently than men.
The diagnostic assessment is less and less often carried out (less than 20% of cases) in the face of classic manifestations: weight loss, bloating, diarrhea, deficiencies, etc. It is most often carried out in the face of non-specific digestive symptoms, symptoms extra digestive (sterility, alopecia, early or severe osteoporosis, recurrent mouth ulcers), or even biological abnormalities (iron deficiency anemia, liver problems, etc.).

The treatment

Strict exclusion of gluten (wheat, spelled, wheat, kamut, rye, barley) for life.
Oatsare tolerated if they are certified gluten-free .

Wheat allergyWheat allergy

Its causesIts causes
Different proteins contained in wheat can cause an allergy: albumins, globulins and gliadins and glutenins (gluten proteins).
Its symptomsIts symptoms
In infants, it can manifest in a chronic form, such as enteropathy, with symptoms similar to those of celiac disease: weight loss, abdominal pain, bloating. ..
In children, various symptoms occur within 2 to 4 hours after ingestion, often within the first year of life. They are similar to those of a classic food allergy : burning and itching in the mouth, rhinoconjunctivitis, eczema, skin rashes, abdominal pain, vomiting, diarrhea, and even in severe forms anaphylactic shock.
In adolescents and adults, wheat allergy generally takes a particular form which results in symptoms which only appear when the ingestion of wheat is associated with rather intense physical effort, or after taking alcohol or anti-inflammatories. They are varied: digestive disorders, generalized urticaria, difficulty breathing, even anaphylactic shock.
The treatmentThe treatment
In children: elimination of wheat, rye, barley and oats. After the age of 16, 96% of adolescents become tolerant and recover.
In the case of exercise-related allergy: no consumption of wheat in the 4 to 5 hours before or after significant physical exercise.

Non-celiac wheat sensitivity (gluten sensitivity)Non-celiac wheat sensitivity (gluten sensitivity)

Its causesIts causes
It has no clearly defined basis at the moment. The following are implicated: gluten, ATIs (amylase/trypsin inhibitors) and fructans (which are fermentable carbohydrates falling into the category of FODMAPs.
The diagnosis is only made after elimination of wheat allergy and celiac disease.
Its symptomsIts symptoms
Sensitivity to wheat combines:

• digestive signs :abdominal pain, diarrhea, bloating, etc.,
• extradigestive signs :significant fatigue, particularly after a meal, joint and sometimes muscle pain, skin rash (eczema, etc.).

The treatmentThe treatment
After the elimination of celiac disease and wheat allergy (essential condition), start with a strict gluten-free diet (wheat, rye, barley, oats) for 6 weeks, to confirm the diagnosis in case of disappearance of symptoms.
Then, reintroduction, starting with foods containing traces of gluten and, depending on tolerance, with very gradually increasing quantities, each person having to find their tolerance threshold.

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Hi Everyone!
This is my first write-up of any kind of unresolved mystery, on any platform, so I apologize for any formatting errors and my storytelling ability. Today I would like to hear your thoughts on the very mysterious death of Noah Presgrove, a 19 year old from Comanche Oklahoma. I have tried to be as thorough as possible with the details, but there is a great deal of conflicting information in the news reports, so I primarily used facts stated by Noah's family in interviews. With that said, let's begin...
Noah Presgrove was a handsome, athletic 19 year old from Comanche Oklahoma, which is located just south of Oklahoma City in the middle of the state. Noah had recently graduated high school in the spring of 2023 and was waiting for his cousin to do the same the following year so they both could enlist in the Marine Corp together and serve our country. By all accounts Noah was a ladies man, standing at 6'2" with an athletic build, in high school he was a 4-sport athlete with American Football and Wrestling among them. His family also says he was adventurous, kind and very much a jokester who would happily play pranks on his family. Last Labor Day weekend, the first weekend of September 2023, Noah was deciding between attending Rocklahoma, an annual 3-day hard rock and metal festival held in Pryor, Oklahoma, with family members or attending a 4-day Labor Day weekend bash/22nd birthday party of a friend. Noah considered going to Rocklahoma, but changed his mind when the family members he'd be attending with said they didn't think it was a good idea for Noah's 16 year old friend to join them there, since they didn't know this friend's family and Rocklahoma is big for consuming alcohol. With that, everyone went their own way to celebrate the holiday weekend.
The Labor Day/Birthday party was for a female friend of Noah's who was turning 22. It had been advertised on Snapchat, even containing the address, so quite a few people were expected to attend. Noah drove himself to the party on Saturday and by all accounts enjoyed himself. He did text his family member who was at Rocklahoma and express regret at not going with them, but it doesn't appear that this put too much of a damper on his attitude at the house party. After spending Saturday at the birthday girl's house, Noah returned home Sunday, probably to freshen up and take care of any outstanding errands or just check in with his grandmother, with whom he lived. Also, Noah's car was leaking from the oil pan, so it sounds like part of the reason to return home was to leave it there so he wouldn't have to worry about it. There are two stories about what happened next: The first is that one of Noah's friends picked him up from his house on Sunday, but took him to a truck stop so he could grab some food from the Sonic there. Oddly, the friend who took him there says he left him there and Noah was then given a ride to the party by the birthday girl, who had to come pick him up. The other story is that his best friend picked him up from his house and took him directly to the party, leaving him in the driveway. Either way, Noah was back at the party on Sunday and according to those present, was very much enjoying himself. There were videos from the party showing Noah and his friends doing "guy things" like the Slap Game, where two people try to slap each other across the face as hard as they can. Just "macho" drunken teenage guy things. There was also video from the party of the guests playing "classic" party games such as beer pong.
With all the drinking going on, some issues were bound to arise. A confrontation happened between Noah and his best friend. Noah had been in a corner with his best friend's girlfriend and apparently they had their backs to everyone else while talking. The best friend took exception to this and an argument ensued. Luckily, it did not become physical and they made up shortly after, but this event with the best friend and his girlfriend is important for later. A second confrontation occurred between Noah and a 16 year old guest that did become physical. The 16 year old accused Noah of hiding his phone, although the reasons why he thought Noah did it have not been stated. During the argument the kid "fishhooked" Noah and Noah returned the favor by biting his finger. It seems like the other people there were able to diffuse the situation and the kid's phone was found underneath another guest who was sleeping on a couch. As the day went on, things continued to become crazier as the people at the party drank more and more. At one point girls at the party started signing their names on Noah's torso and buttocks, writing things such as "Noah's hot!" and drawing a cartoon penis on his rear-end. Noah and the best friend he had the argument with even drove a John Deere "Gator" UTV "Side by Side" around the property, but stopped when Noah scrapped his hand almost flipping it over. Some people even say that Noah was tossed from the UTV, but he was checked out by a nurse at the party and she said he had nothing to worry about. Another event worth mentioning is that the birthday girl seemed to have a crush on Noah. Noah realized this, or was told this, and while talking to her about it called her a "fat, nasty b*tch". I assume that they were close friends and this is just a drunken teen being a drunken teen. An odd thing to mention is that this girl's mother, who also lives in the home, had told Noah's family that she believed Noah wanted her sexually. Whether this is true or not, I have no clue, but it seems a very weird thing to say to the family of a 19 year old your daughter is friends with.
So here's where the mystery comes in. Early Monday morning (September 4th, 2023), after 2:00am, the guests say that Noah was upset about something and that it might have had to do with sleeping in either the birthday girl's or her mother's bed. One of them either heard, or saw, Noah attempting to sleep in their bed and demanded that he go on the floor. This apparently upset Noah so much that he said he needed to go out for a walk, completely drunk, very early in the morning. The guests say Noah was wearing his best friend's shorts (we'll get to his clothes later) and could only find one of his shoes, so he grabbed another shoe lying around the house and took off out the front door. The house had a 1/2 mile long driveway that then went out to US-81, a major North-South highway that runs for 1,200+ miles through the central US. At 3:41am, a friend of Noah's posted a weird Snapchat: a photo of a girl at the party smiling, with the caption "well, Noah's missing". This was the last Snapchat posted by any of the partygoers after days of constant videos and pics. Around 5:00am, a semi-truck driving along US-81 saw something he believed to be a body lying on the shoulder of the road. After driving past, he became concerned and turned around to confirm what he saw. By the time he got back, two other vehicles had stopped in front of the lifeless body of Noah on the shoulder. He was completely naked wearing only 2 mismatched shoes and curled up in a fetal position. He appeared to have blunt force trauma to the back of his head. He had small scrapes on his left shoulder and left hip and his fingertips on both hands were reported as being "shredded", down to the bone. Noah's front top and bottom teeth had also been knocked out and they were found scattered at the scene. There was no blood found at the scene, other than a small amount around Noah's injuries. Very concerning was the fact that there was no writing on his body anywhere. Not on his torso and not on his buttocks. The shorts Noah was wearing were found folded up next him. The people at the party said "They must've been knocked off when he was hit.", which obviously does not make sense.
Around 6:00am, with the police already notified by the people who found Noah, all Snapchat's/social media from people at the party was deleted. His friends and acquaintances at the party say they have no idea what led up to his death and they were unaware of it. The police did not search the house because they said: "Noah wasn't found there.". They did eventually conduct a "mass" interview with all the partygoers. During this interview, Noah's best friend's girlfriend, the one that led to his first confrontation, told police she had never met Noah. She had wiped her phone so completely that even her boyfriend's number had been deleted. When the guests were asked about Noah being naked, the girls said they gave Noah a "shower", but Noah's mental state at the time, whether mildly drunk or completely inebriated, has been an area of dispute among the guests. Some say he was joking around and being himself while being showered, other accounts state that he was barely conscious. Noah's clothing he wore to the party that night has never been located. Police were told that after Noah showered his clothes were dirty, so he wore his friend's shorts. There is a rumor that his best friend's father found Noah's shirt from the party, which was then cut-up and distributed to the party attendees as a "memento". In addition to this event with his shirt, there is also information that his best friend's father had some of Noah's teeth in his pocket. He stated he "accidentally" picked them up from the crime scene. It's worth stating that this particular individual has been on Noah's family's Facebook memorial page for months, arguing with others on there. Just very odd behavior from an adult father who's son's best friend died mysteriously. But, on this same topic, NONE of the partygoers or their families have ever visited Noah's family to express their condolences. Never once.
Since Noah's friends and others at the party said they didn't know what happened, the police had their work cut out for them. The Oklahoma Highway Patrol obtained a "geofence" warrant covering a 1-1/2 mile radius around the party house. What they found was a bit disturbing. Around the time it is believed Noah died, 2 phones were traced as having left the house, heading to the location of his body. After briefly staying there, the two phones returned to the house. People at the party told a private investigator hired by Noah's family that they went out looking for Noah in the UTV/Gator that Noah and his friend had been on earlier. If they had really done this, they would have found him since the phones were at the spot Noah was found. It has not been released who exactly this was. Also revealed when police searched phones was a video of the birthday girl and her sister on their front porch, screaming at each other about Noah leaving the party. It is believed that this could be relevant. The Texas Rangers also became involved, due to the fact that two men at the party were from Texas. It is not known if these men are persons of interest. The Oklahoma Highway Patrol also quietly issued a warrant for a "black pick-up truck" believed to have been used to dump his body, but it is unknown why they are looking for this particular vehicle. The Oklahoma Highway Patrol has unequivocally stated that this was 100% NOT a hit-and-run. They have now also said that this is NOT a murder investigation. The Medical Examiner's report released on Monday, May 13th 2024 stated that Noah died from "Multiple Blunt Force injuries", but list the manner in which this happened as "unknown". His report also detailed extensive injuries to the teen's upper body, including 10 broken ribs, serious skull, neck, and spine fractures, internal bleeding, brain and organ damage, and cuts and grazes all over his body. The autopsy also revealed air in both his cranial cavity and spinal cord, extremely rare conditions only caused by massive head trauma. The family has heard rumors that a golf club from the set in his best friend's truck may have been involved, but nothing else has come of this.
The family has engaged with a private investigator, who did uncover previously unknown information, and gave that to the police. They have also said that there is much more which has not been publicly released and that the search of the phones did uncover good information. Also according to the family, some evidence has been covered-up or lost and that the day after the party, the birthday girl's house and property reeked of bleach. Despite this, his family says good things are going on behind the scenes.
So, with all of the above information, it doesn't seem to be a stretch to say that someone from the party knows something. It is my personal belief that this case will be resolved, but I think three things will have to happen: Time, Pressure and Guilt. At some point in the future, someone from the party will feel guilty, or media pressure will get to them and they will talk. Unfortunately, it may take some time unless the police uncover new evidence sooner. Thank you very much for reading this, but please let me know your thoughts on this case and feel free to ask questions.
Sources:
Podcast (Interview w/ Noah's family): https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/jimny-carpenteepisodes/The-Suspicious-Murder-Of-Noah-Presgrove-Part-1-e2dchac
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-13421341/Oklahoma-teen-Noah-Presgrove-beaten-death-gang-doctor-claims.html
https://kfor.com/news/local/m-e-releases-more-details-in-19-year-olds-death/
https://www.foxnews.com/us/oklahoma-teen-military-hopefuls-family-cant-imagine-was-murdered-offers-theory-about-last-hours

Many turbulent waters have passed under a very narrow bridge these past three days. We feared fear itself on a different level and experienced some of the biggest stress we have in a very long time. We were locked almost 24 hours (20 minutes of open-out time on Monday and Tuesday).
Considering that most of us don't eat the prison rations, we hungered and thirst greatly. At some points food and water became scarce in the entire yard. Bread was completely unavailable and treated and packaged water was spent. All sellers sold out within the first 20 minutes of opening on Monday. Since there was nothing entering or leaving, by Tuesday afternoon, no food or water could be found at any cell or anywhere within the yard.
Remember, the first news of an imminent search came on Saturday night (Day #354) and we did an emergency hiding of our phones. We were all scared and restless, the hiding wasn't safe, we only hid anywhere that looked like something could be put in it. It was already late when this info came and we were all already locked in and couldn't, well, go out, so we only did our hidings within and around. During the day, the following morning, we used our phones until locking time before the hiding began again and stretched into the night. (I'm talking about Sunday evening/night now).
I sent mine along with the accessories to the workshop for safekeeping while others hid theirs in many creative ways. Officially, cells collected their phones together in a plastic bucket and holes were dug within the blocks and they were buried. This was done under the cover of night.
COs opened our cells and instructed us to do it and make sure no contraband remained in any cell as this would always bounce back on them. They didn't want that and so had to aid us. The external search party that came was directly from the nation's capital (HQ of corrections) and were therefore superior to any officer in this facility. Even superior to the state comptroller of corrections. It was a pretty tense situation for us inmates and as well for them COs.
On Sunday night, I slept quite well after we'd hidden our phones and stuff, mine in the toilet at the workshop and others majorly buried in the ground inside blocks. Early in the morning on Monday, when the search was to begin, was when we had the most anxiety. The cells and blocks were just too troublingly quiet. I mean it was so quiet it was deafening, literally. Like a pressure built up in my two ears and everything paused and people moved in slow motion, kind of quiet.
Suspense. Suspense. Suspense. In the morning, before they eventually showed up, we were dying of suspense. Being fortunate as a result of the positioning of our cell, we have a window that can see a greater part of the yard, as well as the main gate far up front. For this morning, everyone wanted to stand at that window and mount the sentry. Thump, thump, thump our hearts thumped and silence remained deafening.
Finally they started trickling in with swag after some waiting. Big, mean looking dogs pulled by big muscled, mean looking COs, were in front, and came charging in. These hellhounds looked as though they had a score to settle with the inhabitants of this hell and would tear them and their abode apart if they got the chance. They didn't!
I'm talking Monday morning now.
Some dramas unfolded that wouldn't permit the hounds to have their fun. What happened was that immediately the search company entered, they turned left and began marching to Back Cell. This is the place where the hardest death row inmates are kept. So, as soon as these condemned guys knew they were coming, they let out such demonic shouts that rent and vibrated the previously unsettlingly quiet atmosphere, cursings and threatenings of stabbings and stranglings, and forced feeding the intruders their overnight shit defecated into plastic containers, echoed.
Such terrible roars their shouts were. The other two blocks, besides Back Cell, where death row inmates are kept, on hearing their fellows, also joined in on the bawl. As Back Cell shouted one thing, it was picked up by the other two blocks, rebounded and volleyed back into the uttermost parts of the prison. They sort of formed a shout transmission triangle.
This development was psychological, calculated and halted our unwanted visitors dead in their tracks. Men who were as good as dead had told them they weren't wanted and would have their deaths fast-forwarded if they advanced further. Their march now paused, they had no choice but to think deeply about all the possible options. To be sure, the losers would be them if they chose to engage foolishly. Dead men have nothing to lose, you know?
After much consideration, the company put forward the Chief of the yard and the resident Deputy Comptroller of Corrections (DCC) to go reason with their dead men. They did and the men told them the only thing they could promise them was deaths if anyone dared to step beyond their designated buffer zone.
Back Cell won. The company then had to send their war dogs out of the yard and adopted a more friendly mien all in a bid to diffuse tension and tone down aggressions. I would say it worked because the shouts died down and the next death row block they turned to cooperated and the search began.
They were very thorough and took a lot of stuff but surprisingly very few phones (already buried, yo!). Knives, belts, bottles, electric stoves and kettles were all taken. Gold blings of all types and serious cash were found and confiscated from the rich blocks. Contrary to expectation, the workshop where my stuff was hidden was searched. I died immediately they marched in there and remained dead, though walking around, until the next day. Not knowing if they took my things was harder and more torture than if they'd actually taken it and I knew immediately. I suffered for hours.
My block wasn't visited until Tuesday. By this time, the searchers were already spent and the aggression had left them and returned to their HQ (lol). The tendency to be dicks and bullies had fizzled out, now they were too nice. I needed to check if I hadn't woken at the Four Seasons somehow for how civil they were.
Tell you what? Technically, they didn't search our cell. As soon as the searchers arrived at our block, our cell being the first, they gathered in front. One got very close to our gate and codedly asked that we arrange money and give him so he wouldn't search us and we did. Turns out only five of the company were the ones allowed into the cells to do the actual searching and he was the leader of the five.
Having slipped money into his hand while we were moving out, they merely made a show of searching the bunks closest to the gate where their colleagues and Superiors stood, but took nothing out even if it was an exhibit. They didn't touch the bunks deeper inside at all. We were made to sit on the ground in front of our cell while they did their thing inside. After a while, they came out with only two laughable things and declared to their boss that our cell is clean (lolz, the money we gave them was equally clean).
Actually, why it was like that was that Authority didn't want us to be searched at all but had to do it to fulfill all righteousness. The DCC told them if they don't search everyone, fighting would break out. The people searched and their things seized would cause trouble. So they only came to our block not to search but for show. Our block has the most impeccable record of any block and our cell stands out of any cell in the block for good behavior.
I later understood that the search was originally targeted at the death row guys at Back Cell, Blocks One and Two, and B block. Other places searched were only as a matter of necessity to serve as cover and to even things out and not hurt already hurt feelings. Principally, it was that transgender in Block Two that singlehandedly attracted and brought this search upon us. He was using his phone recklessly on social media, doing live videos and shits. The extent of his popularity gave his actions a lot of visibility and a lot of powerful people saw it, hence the searchlight fell on prisons.
When it was all over (Tuesday evening), they opened us for only 20 minutes to stretch our limbs but that was just all we needed. Everything buried in the ground was uprooted and I got my phone from the workshop as well. Belts and other things followed later. Hunger and thirst was tough on us these few days. Honestly, prison would be unbearable without our phones, many of us found out during this period. I rest my pen for now.
Tomorrow is Wednesday and normalcy will return. I'm almost thinking: why go through all that trouble for nothing? I may as well have had my stuff tucked away under my bunk and be safe. Anyway, better safe than sorry.
Goodnight Diary!

If you see something I still need to post, please post it below.
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From my own research, the general consensus is that most individuals who experience androgenic alopecia (AGA) experience hair loss in the frontal area first. This is best illustrated in the Hamilton-Norwood which discretizes this process. This pattern has not held for me. I first started to experience hair loss in my vertex a few years ago which has slowly but progressively gotten worse. This occurred WITHOUT any frontal hairline recession. How common is this pattern of hairloss? Is it indicative of some other form of alopecia? What causes different men to experience different AGA hair loss patterns?

Sorry about the delay. I ultimately decided that the story needed a substantial re-write and ended up back at square one. Unfortunately, this means chapters will now only go up three times a week (Monday, Wednesday, Friday). Hopefully you’ll enjoy this new version, and find it worth the wait.
Also, my Patreon is now up if you feel like supporting my writing. I’ll add advance chapters as soon as they’re written.
Thanks for reading!
Prequel (Chapters 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie
First ¦ Previous ¦ Next ¦ Royal Road ¦ Patreon
2. Task Force Nemesis
He, General or mere Captain, who employs everyone in the storming of a position, can be sure of seeing it retaken by an organized counterattack of four men and a corporal.
- Battle Studies, Ardant du Picq
“You’re one of those Academy girls, aren’t you?”
Christie Stirling’s heart seized as a shock of adrenaline lanced through her body, and she needed a great deal of effort not to flinch or tremor. Other party guests looked around in surprise, but her smile remained unblemished. She turned with the lazy and graceless air she had portrayed throughout the night to look into the predatory eyes of Allana Rayker; the inhuman terrorist who had killed her best friend.
The question was either a trap or an accusation. The Academy—a fake university—was the cover of the shadowy organization that had recruited Christie. They had made her a Valkyrie; an enhanced super soldier tasked with protecting humanity from the devastating armaments of an extinct alien race, and those, like Rayker, who wanted to exploit those weapons for evil purposes.
Now that Valkyrie had found the evil woman’s hiding place, the hunt was reaching its final moments. But, shaken by surprise, Christie’s instincts screamed that her cover was blown, that she would be tortured and executed, and that the rest of the task force stealthily approaching the chateau would be discovered and attacked.
She feigned a puzzled smile as she fought for control of her emotions. All around the room, expensively dressed party goers mingled and talked with abandon. Light flashed off crystal glasses, chandeliers, and jewelry worth more than any citizen’s life. A man tipsy with wine laughed raucously at the joke of a Central Committee member, no doubt eager to impress one of the most powerful people in the galaxy.
The exclusive party, hosted by Joakinn Meissner, newly selected president of the largest arms manufacturer in the galaxy, had been anticipated for months. The guests were lost in the lavish display of wealth, with no idea, Christie was certain, that they might be about to witness a gruesome murder.
An angry inner voice drowned out the rising panic. How dare she allow herself to fail? How dare she let down her fellow Valkyrie, who had worked tirelessly for years to hunt down Rayker, and finally bring her to justice? And how dare she betray the memory of her friend Rose, who had already given her life in that struggle? There was simply no room for weakness, and Christie would be damned if she was going to let the operation end so abysmally.
She held onto her façade by her fingertips, as a gut-wrenching void swung beneath her.
“Where?” she asked, slurring her words. “Oh, you mean the mystery school? No, I went to Cambridge actually.”
She kept her eyes unfocused and wandering, but nevertheless taking in details. The galaxy’s most dangerous terrorist was dressed in black, and an earpiece was just visible behind the locks of black hair that fell from the neat bun. She didn’t hold a glass, and stood awkwardly, as one who doesn’t care to impress or reassure. On her wrists, Christie noticed the subtle bulges in the skin that marked her most deadly weapons—spikes of bone that she could launch with more power and speed than bullets.
Rayker stared into her eyes, dragging out the silence. Around them, the fabulously adorned guests began to look over, bemused by the strange interaction. Christie continued the drunken pause, allowing her eyes to droop with fatigue. She wished it were real, but tonight she could not be affected by alcohol. Like all Valkyrie, her bloodstream was flooded with nano machines that gave her enhanced speed, strength, and healing potential. Twenty-four hours earlier, a bioengineer had programmed the nanites to target and break down all alcohol enzymes that passed through her system.
Unfortunately, even advanced technology wouldn’t help her survive for long against Rayker.
Eventually Christie began to turn away, suppressing the shiver she felt at showing her back to a predator.
“Loving the dress,” she said with a hint of disdain. “Not everyone can pull off funeral black at a drinky fete.”
“Perhaps I was mistaken,” Rayker said, her voice neutral. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”
Christie stopped and looked back at her with a smirk. “Gosh, you’re scary!” she crowed. “You might almost be a villain in one of those spy movies!”
A wave of embarrassed silence, interrupted by a few titters, passed through the crowd, while others hid disbelieving grins behind their drinks.
Rayker ignored them and extended her hand. “Allana Rayker. I’m an associate of Herr Meissner.”
Christie shook limply. “I’m Petti.”
Rayker’s eyebrows flickered as she suppressed an obviously contemptuous expression. “You’re the girl who found success on the feeds recently? Modeling lingerie?” Her lips twisted into a fake smile. “I wouldn’t normally be interested, but so many men have told me that you have a surprising intellect.”
Of course, the meeting had been inevitable. Rayker had been prowling the halls of Meissner’s Chateau, interrogating every young woman in a similar fashion. Christie’s cover had been calculated to make her stand out, but in a way that could be easily dismissed. ‘Petti’ was a highly connected social influencer, who craved adoration and attention. It had been a fun role, up until now.
Christie grinned at the lascivious looks around her. “You guys—you’re so sweet!”
Her crowd of male admirers laughed, then directed blank stares at Rayker. Christie offered a prayer of thanks for the collective lust that was patiently trying to convince the intruder that she was an unwelcome bore who had no right to deprive them of the attention offered by an inebriated and provocatively dressed young woman, and should leave as soon as possible.
“Enchanté,” Rayker said, and stalked off.
“Is there a draft in here? I think I felt a chill,” Christie said to more laughter.
She turned her sunbeam smile back to the crowd while she reached a gently shaking hand up to brush the silver of her brooch. The tiny and delicate shapes of the flower’s petals helped calm her mind as she focused on the next step.
***
A mile away, in the dense woods of the Chateau’s outer grounds, Lance-Corporal Kayla Barnes moved slowly through the dark undergrowth. She placed each foot purposefully, testing the ground before shifting her weight to prevent the cracking of a twig or the rustle of leaves.
As she crested a low rise, she froze. The multi-wavelength vizor of her helmet showed the surrounding trees and foliage in dark grey and black patterns. Amidst the visual chaos she had been struggling to navigate, a pair of tiny white blobs had suddenly appeared.
Heat sources. Guards.
Kayla reached for the comm switch on her chest and triple clicked the talk button, sending a burst of static noise to the rest of the squad. Close behind, the three other members of her fire team, who had stopped when she had, raised their rifles and peered through scopes at the distant threat. Further along the gentle slope, the second half of their eight-woman squad also stopped, as they too scanned to locate the new target.
They were Rangers, part of Valkyrie’s elite infantry force. Under the cover of darkness, they had climbed through the surrounding mountains and crept past local security forces to infiltrate the chateau grounds. When the time came, their job would be to neutralize the VennZech corporation’s mercenary guards, leaving the Chateau infiltrators free to break in and take down Rayker.
Kayla would either succeed in her mission or die trying. She had graduated Valkyrie’s crushing selection course together with her three best friends, whom she had sworn never to let down. She had already unforgivably failed Rose Djallen; killed in action on a previous operation. Thandi Khawula was in the squad’s second fire team, covering her movements. Christie was in the chateau, facing their target alone.
As Kayla watched the distant blobs draw closer, they resolved into familiar human figures. Three of them. They were strolling, weapons slung, as they made the head and arm movements of everyday conversation.
Of course they were distracted; they had the Ambrosia detail. The planet was the luxury destination for the most powerful members of human society. On its pristine shores, rivalries and factions were forgotten. Powerful cartel members, after being offered a month’s stay, would be offered mutual, but discrete, agreements in place of a prison sentence. Business might be politely discussed, but anyone looking to extort or threaten fellow guests of would find their home planet visited by a Helvetic League security fleet. The normally fractious and squeamish planetary governors would look the other way. Nobody in their right mind would want to disturb this world’s tranquility.
But Valkyrie worked from the shadows and went wherever they pleased. Besides, if everything went to plan, nobody would even know what had happened.
The Chateau was built high on the slopes of Ambrosia’s most popular mountain range, not far from a huge ski resort. Perched on the edge of a sheer cliff, the building was flanked by a spectacular waterfall. In daylight, there was a jaw dropping view of the surrounding peaks and valleys. The grounds were covered in dense forests that stretched across the surrounding slopes. Normally, they were peaceful, disturbed only by the occasional guest out for an adventurous hike. Now they were crawling with Rangers, closing in to seal the chateau off from the outside world.
Kayla slowly turned her head and found the muted gray patch of her squad leader a short distance away. Their combat suits kept their body heat from seeping out into the world—as much a necessity to protect them in the vacuum of space as to keep them hidden. The diffuse blob of Corporal Ksenia ‘Kes’ Rudaski slowly raised an arm towards Kayla, and made a gentle motion in the direction of the approaching men.
Kayla raised her own hand in a thumbs up, then began to move forward. She did not need to see or hear her three other Rangers to know they would be close behind.
The two elements were separating. Kes’ Alpha team spread out on the rise to keep their rifles aimed at the new threats, while Kayla’s Bravo team crept towards them.
Their commanders had decided early in the operation that they should attempt to minimize human casualties wherever possible. To that end, Kayla and her squad mate Ray carried stun rifles. They could stop the heart of a human with a projectile that could latch into the skin and deliver a violent electric shock. Then, the Rangers would have up to two minutes to reach the unconscious victims and inject them with a solution to restart their cardiac rhythm before a powerful tranquilizer took effect. The men would wake up with amnesia hours later, and Valkyrie would confidently maintain its secrecy while assuaging the ethical concerns that interfering in human society often brought them.
Unfortunately, the weapons were only effective to a hundred yards. Kayla and Ray would have to get as close as they could before they could take out all three of the guards. They had night vision, and any sound would carry far on such a quiet night. Even distracted, they wouldn’t miss a disturbance amongst the trees.
Kayla had been a talented stalker since she was a child, a noiseless shadow in any environment. Nevertheless, there was always the chance that something could go wrong, and the Rangers couldn’t take the risk of a compromise when so much was on the line.
Certainly not, Kayla grimly reminded herself, when Christie’s life was in so much peril. One wrong move and Rayker would kill her immediately before making good her own escape and destroying months of work.
So Kes and her three Rangers kept their high-powered, suppressed rifles trained on the distant men. At the slightest hint of a problem, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill, and the ‘moral question’ would be chalked up to the fortune of war. False intelligence would be distributed implicating cartel involvement in the raid. Valkyrie ethics had always been a nebulous concept at best.
The closer Kayla got through the undergrowth to her target the closer, she knew, her watcher’s lethal assistance would have to pass by her own body. But she felt no fear. Thandi had become a talented marksman; neither she nor the others would make a mistake.
Now only fifty yards away, the men stopped by a large boulder, leaning against the rock while they drank from their canteens. Kayla dropped to her belly and merged into the ground as she slithered forward.
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Prequel (Chapters 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie

Sorry about the delay. I ultimately decided that the story needed a substantial re-write and ended up back at square one. Unfortunately, this means chapters will now only go up three times a week (Monday, Wednesday, Friday). Hopefully you’ll enjoy this new version, and find it worth the wait.
Also, my Patreon is now up if you feel like supporting my writing. I’ll add advance chapters as soon as they’re written.
Thanks for reading!
Prequel (Parts 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie
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2. Task Force Nemesis
"He, General or mere Captain, who employs everyone in the storming of a position, can be sure of seeing it retaken by an organized counterattack of four men and a corporal."
- Battle Studies, Ardant du Picq
“You’re one of those Academy girls, aren’t you?”
Christie Stirling’s heart seized as a shock of adrenaline lanced through her body, and she needed a great deal of effort not to flinch or tremor. Other party guests looked around in surprise, but her smile remained unblemished. She turned with the lazy and graceless air she had portrayed throughout the night to look into the predatory eyes of Allana Rayker; the inhuman terrorist who had killed her best friend.
The question was either a trap or an accusation. The Academy—a fake university—was the cover of the shadowy organization that had recruited Christie. They had made her a Valkyrie; an enhanced super soldier tasked with protecting humanity from the devastating armaments of an extinct alien race, and those, like Rayker, who wanted to exploit those weapons for evil purposes.
Now that Valkyrie had found the evil woman’s hiding place, the hunt was reaching its final moments. But, shaken by surprise, Christie’s instincts screamed that her cover was blown, that she would be tortured and executed, and that the rest of the task force stealthily approaching the chateau would be discovered and attacked.
She feigned a puzzled smile as she fought for control of her emotions. All around the room, expensively dressed party goers mingled and talked with abandon. Light flashed off crystal glasses, chandeliers, and jewelry worth more than any citizen’s life. A man tipsy with wine laughed raucously at the joke of a Central Committee member, no doubt eager to impress one of the most powerful people in the galaxy.
The exclusive party, hosted by Joakinn Meissner, newly selected president of the largest arms manufacturer in the galaxy, had been anticipated for months. The guests were lost in the lavish display of wealth, with no idea, Christie was certain, that they might be about to witness a gruesome murder.
An angry inner voice drowned out the rising panic. How dare she allow herself to fail? How dare she let down her fellow Valkyrie, who had worked tirelessly for years to hunt down Rayker, and finally bring her to justice? And how dare she betray the memory of her friend Rose, who had already given her life in that struggle? There was simply no room for weakness, and Christie would be damned if she was going to let the operation end so abysmally.
She held onto her façade by her fingertips, as a gut-wrenching void swung beneath her.
“Where?” she asked, slurring her words. “Oh, you mean the mystery school? No, I went to Cambridge actually.”
She kept her eyes unfocused and wandering, but nevertheless taking in details. The galaxy’s most dangerous terrorist was dressed in black, and an earpiece was just visible behind the locks of black hair that fell from the neat bun. She didn’t hold a glass, and stood awkwardly, as one who doesn’t care to impress or reassure. On her wrists, Christie noticed the subtle bulges in the skin that marked her most deadly weapons—spikes of bone that she could launch with more power and speed than bullets.
Rayker stared into her eyes, dragging out the silence. Around them, the fabulously adorned guests began to look over, bemused by the strange interaction. Christie continued the drunken pause, allowing her eyes to droop with fatigue. She wished it were real, but tonight she could not be affected by alcohol. Like all Valkyrie, her bloodstream was flooded with nano machines that gave her enhanced speed, strength, and healing potential. Twenty-four hours earlier, a bioengineer had programmed the nanites to target and break down all alcohol enzymes that passed through her system.
Unfortunately, even advanced technology wouldn’t help her survive for long against Rayker.
Eventually Christie began to turn away, suppressing the shiver she felt at showing her back to a predator.
“Loving the dress,” she said with a hint of disdain. “Not everyone can pull off funeral black at a drinky fete.”
“Perhaps I was mistaken,” Rayker said, her voice neutral. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”
Christie stopped and looked back at her with a smirk. “Gosh, you’re scary!” she crowed. “You might almost be a villain in one of those spy movies!”
A wave of embarrassed silence, interrupted by a few titters, passed through the crowd, while others hid disbelieving grins behind their drinks.
Rayker ignored them and extended her hand. “Allana Rayker. I’m an associate of Herr Meissner.”
Christie shook limply. “I’m Petti.”
Rayker’s eyebrows flickered as she suppressed an obviously contemptuous expression. “You’re the girl who found success on the feeds recently? Modeling lingerie?” Her lips twisted into a fake smile. “I wouldn’t normally be interested, but so many men have told me that you have a surprising intellect.”
Of course, the meeting had been inevitable. Rayker had been prowling the halls of Meissner’s Chateau, interrogating every young woman in a similar fashion. Christie’s cover had been calculated to make her stand out, but in a way that could be easily dismissed. ‘Petti’ was a highly connected social influencer, who craved adoration and attention. It had been a fun role, up until now.
Christie grinned at the lascivious looks around her. “You guys—you’re so sweet!”
Her crowd of male admirers laughed, then directed blank stares at Rayker. Christie offered a prayer of thanks for the collective lust that was patiently trying to convince the intruder that she was an unwelcome bore who had no right to deprive them of the attention offered by an inebriated and provocatively dressed young woman, and should leave as soon as possible.
“Enchanté,” Rayker said, and stalked off.
“Is there a draft in here? I think I felt a chill,” Christie said to more laughter.
She turned her sunbeam smile back to the crowd while she reached a gently shaking hand up to brush the silver of her brooch. The tiny and delicate shapes of the flower’s petals helped calm her mind as she focused on the next step.
***
A mile away, in the dense woods of the Chateau’s outer grounds, Lance-Corporal Kayla Barnes moved slowly through the dark undergrowth. She placed each foot purposefully, testing the ground before shifting her weight to prevent the cracking of a twig or the rustle of leaves.
As she crested a low rise, she froze. The multi-wavelength vizor of her helmet showed the surrounding trees and foliage in dark grey and black patterns. Amidst the visual chaos she had been struggling to navigate, a pair of tiny white blobs had suddenly appeared.
Heat sources. Guards.
Kayla reached for the comm switch on her chest and triple clicked the talk button, sending a burst of static noise to the rest of the squad. Close behind, the three other members of her fire team, who had stopped when she had, raised their rifles and peered through scopes at the distant threat. Further along the gentle slope, the second half of their eight-woman squad also stopped, as they too scanned to locate the new target.
They were Rangers, part of Valkyrie’s elite infantry force. Under the cover of darkness, they had climbed through the surrounding mountains and crept past local security forces to infiltrate the chateau grounds. When the time came, their job would be to neutralize the VennZech corporation’s mercenary guards, leaving the Chateau infiltrators free to break in and take down Rayker.
Kayla would either succeed in her mission or die trying. She had graduated Valkyrie’s crushing selection course together with her three best friends, whom she had sworn never to let down. She had already unforgivably failed Rose Djallen; killed in action on a previous operation. Thandi Khawula was in the squad’s second fire team, covering her movements. Christie was in the chateau, facing their target alone.
As Kayla watched the distant blobs draw closer, they resolved into familiar human figures. Three of them. They were strolling, weapons slung, as they made the head and arm movements of everyday conversation.
Of course they were distracted; they had the Ambrosia detail. The planet was the luxury destination for the most powerful members of human society. On its pristine shores, rivalries and factions were forgotten. Powerful cartel members, after being offered a month’s stay, would be offered mutual, but discrete, agreements in place of a prison sentence. Business might be politely discussed, but anyone looking to extort or threaten fellow guests of would find their home planet visited by a Helvetic League security fleet. The normally fractious and squeamish planetary governors would look the other way. Nobody in their right mind would want to disturb this world’s tranquility.
But Valkyrie worked from the shadows and went wherever they pleased. Besides, if everything went to plan, nobody would even know what had happened.
The Chateau was built high on the slopes of Ambrosia’s most popular mountain range, not far from a huge ski resort. Perched on the edge of a sheer cliff, the building was flanked by a spectacular waterfall. In daylight, there was a jaw dropping view of the surrounding peaks and valleys. The grounds were covered in dense forests that stretched across the surrounding slopes. Normally, they were peaceful, disturbed only by the occasional guest out for an adventurous hike. Now they were crawling with Rangers, closing in to seal the chateau off from the outside world.
Kayla slowly turned her head and found the muted gray patch of her squad leader a short distance away. Their combat suits kept their body heat from seeping out into the world—as much a necessity to protect them in the vacuum of space as to keep them hidden. The diffuse blob of Corporal Ksenia ‘Kes’ Rudaski slowly raised an arm towards Kayla, and made a gentle motion in the direction of the approaching men.
Kayla raised her own hand in a thumbs up, then began to move forward. She did not need to see or hear her three other Rangers to know they would be close behind.
The two elements were separating. Kes’ Alpha team spread out on the rise to keep their rifles aimed at the new threats, while Kayla’s Bravo team crept towards them.
Their commanders had decided early in the operation that they should attempt to minimize human casualties wherever possible. To that end, Kayla and her squad mate Ray carried stun rifles. They could stop the heart of a human with a projectile that could latch into the skin and deliver a violent electric shock. Then, the Rangers would have up to two minutes to reach the unconscious victims and inject them with a solution to restart their cardiac rhythm before a powerful tranquilizer took effect. The men would wake up with amnesia hours later, and Valkyrie would confidently maintain its secrecy while assuaging the ethical concerns that interfering in human society often brought them.
Unfortunately, the weapons were only effective to a hundred yards. Kayla and Ray would have to get as close as they could before they could take out all three of the guards. They had night vision, and any sound would carry far on such a quiet night. Even distracted, they wouldn’t miss a disturbance amongst the trees.
Kayla had been a talented stalker since she was a child, a noiseless shadow in any environment. Nevertheless, there was always the chance that something could go wrong, and the Rangers couldn’t take the risk of a compromise when so much was on the line.
Certainly not, Kayla grimly reminded herself, when Christie’s life was in so much peril. One wrong move and Rayker would kill her immediately before making good her own escape and destroying months of work.
So Kes and her three Rangers kept their high-powered, suppressed rifles trained on the distant men. At the slightest hint of a problem, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill, and the ‘moral question’ would be chalked up to the fortune of war. False intelligence would be distributed implicating cartel involvement in the raid. Valkyrie ethics had always been a nebulous concept at best.
The closer Kayla got through the undergrowth to her target the closer, she knew, her watcher’s lethal assistance would have to pass by her own body. But she felt no fear. Thandi had become a talented marksman; neither she nor the others would make a mistake.
Now only fifty yards away, the men stopped by a large boulder, leaning against the rock while they drank from their canteens. Kayla dropped to her belly and merged into the ground as she slithered forward.
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Prequel (Parts 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie

tldr; Old Indian parable of the Blind Men and the Elephant is instructive re: the problem of Consciousness.
Most people have heard of the story. Here's a brief refresher from Wikipedia:

The parable of the blind men and an elephant is a story of a group of blind men who have never come across an elephant before and who learn and imagine what the elephant is like by touching it. Each blind man feels a different part of the animal's body, but only one part, such as the side or the tusk. They then describe the animal based on their limited experience and their descriptions of the elephant are different from each other. In some versions, they come to suspect that the other person is dishonest and they come to blows. The moral of the parable is that humans have a tendency to claim absolute truth based on their limited, subjective experience as they ignore other people's limited, subjective experiences which may be equally true.[1][2] The parable originated in the ancient Indian subcontinent, from where it has been widely diffused.

So Consciousness itself is a lot like the elephant... and we're a lot like the Blind Men. How so?
We can't see Consciousness with our eyes or any of the other physical senses. We experience it directly.
From this direct (but limited) experience, we then attempt to understand and describe it.

and their descriptions of the elephant are different from each other.

Bingo!

In some versions, they come to suspect that the other person is dishonest and they come to blows.

In 2024, we don't have physical fights, but there are lots of arguments and downvotes. So, once more, the parable is accurate.
It's not just Consciousness either. I've noticed the same pattern of "differential explanation + disagreement - hostility" for many other things as well.

[currently on episode 7] Anyone know why they don’t give the couples new apartments? If I had to live in the same space that my partner was (s)uckin & (f)uckin in for a month, I’d be trying to find the nearest cliff!
My thoughts on the “couples”:
— Courtney & Aiden Aiden seemed like a saint in each and every episode. He treated Lebo like the Queen she is, didn’t disrespect Courtney in any way, and diffused all the situations that production should’ve intervened in. So Courtney starting their re-trial marriage with all that negative energy gave me bad vibes.
— Khanya & Nkateko The way Nkateko dragged Sizakele over to Khanya’s apartment and abandoned her to be verbally (and lowkey physically) attacked was WILD! These two deserve each other. 🤡🤡
— Ruth & Isaac Ruth’s unapologeticism for what went down with Nolla was refreshing, seeing as Nolla was all deny, Deny, DENY! Was anyone else hoping that Isaac would’ve tried to rekindle things with Lebo?!?
— Sizakele & Lindile Together for 6 months and already issuing an ultimatum, so clearly there’s some instability there. Not surprised at all by the love triangle mess. Also, Sizakele seems like such a happy spirit, especially in contrast with Khanya.
— Thabi & Genesis Genesis looked soso hurt after they swapped back. IMO, there was an appropriate window of time for Thabi to give Lindile the gift. Sis knew what she was doing!
— Lebo & Nolla I hope Lebo blocked Nolla after filming and never looked back. She stayed cool, calm, and collected throughout the entire process, despite all the BS thrown her way. Hope she’s found someone who loves, respects, and honors her soul!
In conclusion: — These men are so hypocritical. Makes ME want a break from the species. — Anyone else wonder how differently it would’ve played out if trial spouses were chosen differently?

II. The Narcissistic Personality of Our Time
Narcissism as a Metaphor of the Human Condition
…
Theoretical precision about narcissism is important not only because the idea is so readily susceptible to moralistic inflation but because the practice of equating narcissism with everything selfish and disagreeable militates against historical specificity. Men have always been selfish, groups have always been ethnocentric; nothing is gained by giving these qualities a psychiatric label. The emergence of character disorders as the most prominent form of psychiatric pathology, however, together with the change in personality structure this development reflects, derives from quite specific changes in our society and culture - from bureaucracy, the proliferation of images, therapeutic ideologies, the rationalization of the inner life, the cult of consumption, and in the last analysis from changes in family life and from changing patterns of socialization. All this disappears from sight if narcissism becomes simply “the metaphor of the human condition,” as in another existential, humanistic interpretation, Shirley Sugerman’s Sin and Madness: Studies in Narcissism.
The refusal of recent critics of narcissism to discuss the etiology of narcissism or to pay much attention to the growing body of clinical writing on the subject probably represents a deliberate decision, stemming from the fear that emphasis on the clinical aspects of the narcissistic syndrome would detract from the concept’s usefulness in social analysis. This decision, however, has proved to be a mistake. In ignoring the psychological dimension, these authors also miss the social. They fail to explore any of the character traits associated with pathological narcissism, which in less extreme form appear in such profusion in the everyday life of our age: dependence on the vicarious warmth provided by others combined with a fear of dependence, a sense of inner emptiness, boundless repressed rage, and unsatisfied oral cravings. Nor do they discuss what might be called the secondary characteristics of narcissism: pseudo-self-insight, calculating seductiveness, nervous, self-deprecatory humor. Thus they deprive themselves of any basis on which to make connections between the narcissistic personality type and certain characteristic patterns of contemporary culture, such as the intense fear of old age and death, altered sense of time, fascination with celebrity, fear of competition, decline of the play spirit, deteriorating relations between men and women. For these critics, narcissism remains at its loosest a synonym for selfishness and at its most precise a metaphor, and nothing more, that describes the state of mind in which the world appears as a mirror of the self.
<…>
Scribe Note:
I think the moment Pathological Narcissism is taken as an opening through which contemporary culture and subjectivity can discussed, in concrete relation to socioeconomic or historical particularities, is the moment the Pathological Narcissus is transformed into a metaphor. Here I understand the metaphor as intrinsically concrete. Serving as a connective tissue, medium, and threshold. Alternatively a meeting place. The shape of the Pathological Narcissus orients and organizes. Find Lasch’s approach implicitly architectural. He approaches his work as a craftsmen. Reading Lasch I envision a series of papers detailing seemingly disparate cultural phenomena unfolding and filling in a human-outline, this outline is the Pathological Narcissus. Flipped right-side up, the Pathological Narcissus reveals the real framing device. Contemporary technologies and the move away from the Industrial without properly buffering the agrarian or the small and mid-sized manufacturing that contained/shaped the animating brilliance, innovativeness, and sociality of the American peoples. The Pathological Narcissus cannot be concrete without the abstract as its genesis. Abstract in so far as it is an atomized or segregated sequence of symptoms (an individual reduced to his symptoms) that emerges into view within the transferal space(eros-field) of the analyst’s office. Detailed and expounded upon in the literature. The grounding is perhaps necessarily abstract (to clarify, my usage of the term is distinct from spectral).
Lasch appears on the verge of anticipating and integrating the easy criticism one might levy against him, that this all rests on the presupposition that psychoanalysis has any genuine scientific validity, that Melanie Klein and Otto Kernberg’s contributions to psychoanalysis serve as the standard bearer of psychoanalytic theory and practice (concretely if I’m not mistaken this is absolutely the case in the United States) and more to the point that the psychoanalyst is a trustworthy authority - into his own Criticism. In my reading of The Culture of Narcissism and The Minimal Self, Lasch spirals around this particular critique and the implications. As if it’s a thread we mustn't risk pulling on lest the whole thing unravels. Serves almost like a therapeutic fiction or ‘noble lie’. Still I think it’s implicit in Lasch’s broader critique. In the essay From Mirror to Window: Curing Psychoanalysis of its Narcissism, James Hillman (who I believe had a superior approach to the question of the Image or Icon compared to Lasch who expresses a stunningly consistent Anglo-Germanic and Reformationist contempt for imagery, indeed Lasch’s Iconophobia is nigh Islamic) notes as much,
“Eminent culture critics - Karl Krauss, Thomas Szasz, Philip Rieff, Christopher Lasch, Paul Zweig, and the notorious Dr. Jeffrey Masson - have each seen that psychoanalysis breeds a narcissistic subjectivism inflicting on the culture an iatrogenic disorder, that is, a disease brought by the methods of the doctors who would cure it.”
The “personality disorder” viewed in this light is a diagnostic category that could only come about thanks to the faddish popularity of psychoanalysis. The mother-tongue and womb-religion of the narcissist is psychoanalysis.
The metaphor serves as the site of agonism. Что делать? What is to be done?
What Lasch does here, in my opinion, is update the Narcissus. Can see why this continues to prove a difficult task. One of the issues with the Metaphor is that it becomes very very difficult to differentiate it from the Phantasmatic Type. Especially once it enters into popular usage. Danger of using psychoanalytic terminology in this manner outside of the institution of psychoanalysis. The Pathological Narcissus is that thing the other person is. The tinge of recognition is painful. Or perhaps the greatest danger comes from over identification with the Spectral Narcissus which is easily syncretized with seductive literary or cinematic types i.e., the Superfluous Man or whatever Woody Allen is- and/or falling into a masochistic hypochondria loop of psychic despair. Important to have the example of what an actual Pathological Narcissist is.
<…>
Psychology and Sociology
Psychoanalysis deals with individuals, not with groups. Efforts to generalize clinical findings to collective behavior always encounter the difficulty that groups have a life of their own. The collective mind, if there is such a thing, reflects the needs of the group as a whole, not the psychic needs of the individual which in fact have to be subordinated to the demands of collective living. Indeed it is precisely the subject of the individuals to the group that psychoanalytic theory, through a study of its psychic repercussions, promises to clarify. By conducting an intensive analysis of individual cases that rests on clinical evidence rather than common-sense impressions, psychoanalysis tells us something about the inner workings of society itself, in the very act of turning its back on society and immersing itself in the individual unconscious.
Every society reproduces its culture - its norms, its underlying assumptions, its modes of organizing experience - in the individual, in the form of personality. As Durkheim said, personality is the individual socialized. The process of socialization, carried out by the family and secondarily by the school and other agencies of character formation modifies human nature to conform to the prevailing social norms. Each society tries to solve the universal crises of childhood - the trauma of separation from the mother, the fear of abandonment, the pain of competing with others for the mother’s love - in its own way, and the manner in which it deals with these psychic events produces a characteristic form of personality, a characteristic form of psychological deformation, by means of which the individual reconciles himself to instinctual deprivation and submits to the requirements of social existence. Freud’s insistence on the continuity between psychic health and psychic sickness makes it possible to see neuroses and psychoses as in some sense the characteristic expression of a given culture. “Psychosis,” Jules Henry has written, “is the final outcome of all that is wrong with a culture.”
Psychoanalysis best clarifies the connection between society and the individual, culture and personality, precisely when it confines itself to careful examination of individuals. It tells us most about society when it is least determined to do so. Freud’s extrapolation of psychoanalytic principles into anthropology, history, and biography can be safely ignored by the student of society, but his clinical investigations constitute a storehouse of indispensable ideas, once it is understood that the unconscious mind represents the modification of nature by culture, the imposition of civilization on instinct.

• Freud should not be reproached [wrote T. W. Adorno] for having neglected the concrete social dimension, but for being all too untroubled by the social origin of… the rigidity of the unconscious, which he registers with the undeviating objectivity of the natural scientist… In making the leap from psychological images to historical reality, he forgets what he himself discovered - that all reality undergoes modification upon entering the unconscious - and is thus misled into positing such factual events as the murder of the father by the primal horde.

Those who wish to understand contemporary narcissism as a social and cultural phenomenon must turn first to the growing body of clinical writing on the subject, which makes no claim to social or cultural significance and deliberately repudiates the proposition that “changes in contemporary culture,” as Otto Kernberg writes, “have effects on patterns of object relations.” In the clinical literature, narcissism serves as more than a meta-phoric term for self-absorption. As a psychic formation in which “love rejected turns back to the self as hatred,” narcissism has come to be recognized as an important element in the so-called character disorders that have absorbed much of the clinical attention once given to hysteria and obsessional neuroses. A new theory of narcissism has developed, grounded in Freud’s well-known essay on the subject (which treats narcissism - libidinal investment of the self - as a necessary precondition of object love) but devoted not to primary narcissism but to secondary or pathological narcissism: the incorporation of grandiose object images as a defense against anxiety and guilt. Both types of narcissism blur the boundaries between the self and the world of objects, but there is an important difference between them. The newborn infant - the primary narcissist - does not yet perceive his mother as having an existence separate from his own, and he therefore mistakes dependence on the mother, who satisfies his needs as soon as they arise, with his own omnipotence. “It takes several weeks of postnatal development…before the infant perceives that the source of his need…is within and the source of gratification is outside the self.”
Secondary narcissism, on the other hand, “attempts to annul the pain of disappointed [object] love” and to nullify the child’s rage against those who do not respond immediately to his needs; against those who are now seen to respond to others besides the child and who therefore appear to have abandoned him. Pathological narcissism, “which cannot be considered simply a fixation at the level of normal primitive narcissism,” arises only when the ego has developed to the point of distinguishing itself from surrounding objects. If the child for some reason experiences this separation trauma with special intensity, he may attempt to reestablish earlier relationships by creating in his fantasies an omnipotent mother or father who merges with images of his own self. “Through internalization the patient seeks to recreate a wished-for love relationship which may once have existed and simultaneously to annul the anxiety and guilt aroused by aggressive drives directed against the frustrating and disappointing object.”
Narcissism in Recent Clinical Literature
The shifting emphasis in clinical studies from primary to secondary narcissism reflects both the shift in psychoanalytic theory from study of the id to study of the ego and a change in the type of patients seeking psychiatric treatment. Indeed the shift from a psychology of instincts to ego psychology itself grew partly out of a recognition that the patients who began to present themselves for treatment in the 1940s and 1950s “very seldom resembled the classical neuroses Freud described so thoroughly.” In the last twenty-five years, the borderline patient, who confronts the psychiatrist not with well-defined symptoms but with diffuse dissatisfactions, has become increasingly common. He does not suffer from debilitating fixations or phobias or from the conversion of repressed sexual energy into nervous ailments; instead he complains “of vague, diffuse dissatisfactions with life” and feels his “amorphous existence to be futile and purposeless.” He describes “subtly experienced yet pervasive feelings of emptiness and depression,” “violent oscillations of self-esteem,” and “a general inability to get along.” He gains “a sense of heightened self-esteem only by attaching himself to strong, admired figures whose acceptance he craves and by whom he needs to feel supported.” Although he carries out his daily responsibilities and even achieves distinction, happiness eludes him, and life frequently strikes him as not worth living.
Psychoanalysis, a therapy that grew out of experience with severely repressed and morally rigid individuals who needed to come to terms with a rigorous inner “censor,” today finds itself confronted more and more often with a “chaotic and impulse-ridden character.” It must deal with patients who “act out” their conflicts instead of repressing or sublimating them. These patients, though often ingratiating, tend to cultivate a protective shallowness in emotional relations. They lack the capacity to mourn, because the intensity of their rage against lost love objects, in particular against their parents, prevents their reliving happy experiences or treasuring them in memory. Sexually promiscuous rather than repressed, they nevertheless find it difficult to “elaborate the sexual impulse” or to approach sex in the spirit of play. They avoid close involvements, which might release intense feelings of rage. Their personalities consist largely of defenses against this rage and against feelings of oral deprivation that originate in the pre-Oedipal stage of psychic development.
Often these patients suffer from hypochondria and complain of a sense of inner emptiness. At the same time they entertain fantasies of omnipotence and a strong belief in their right to exploit others and be gratified. Archaic, punitive, and sadistic elements predominate in the superegos of these patients, and they conform to social rules more out of fear of punishment than from a sense of guilt. They experience their own needs and appetites, suffused with rage, as deeply dangerous, and they throw up defenses that are as primitive as the desires they seek to stifle.
On the principle that pathology represents a heightened version of normality, the “pathological narcissism” found in character disorders of this type should tell us something about narcissism as a social phenomenon. Studies of personality disorders that occupy the border line between neurosis and psychosis, though written for clinicians and making no claims to shed light on social or cultural issues, depict a type of personality that ought to be immediately recognizable, in a more subdued form, to observers of the contemporary cultural scene: facile at managing the impressions he gives to others, ravenous for admiration but contemptuous of those he manipulates into providing it; unappeasably hungry for emotional experiences with which to fill an inner void; terrified of again and death.
The most convincing explanations of the psychic origins of this borderline syndrome draw on the theoretical tradition established by Melanie Klein. In her psychoanalytic investigations of children, Klein discovered that early feelings of overpowering rage, directed especially against the mother and secondarily against the internalized image of the mother as a ravenous monster, make it impossible for the child to synthesize “good” and “bad” parental images. In his fear of aggression from the bad parents - projections of his own rage - he idealizes the good parents who will come to the rescue.
Internalized images of others, buried in the unconscious mind at an early age, become self-images as well. If later experience fails to qualify or to introduce elements of reality into the child’s archaic fantasies about his parents, he finds it difficult to distinguish between images of the self and of the objects outside the self. These images fuse to form a defense against the bad representation of the self and of objects, similarly fused in the form of a harsh, punishing superego. Melanie Klein analyzed a ten-year-old boy who unconsciously thought of his mother as a “vampire” or “horrid bird” and internalized this fear as hypochondria. He was afraid that the bad presences inside him would devour the good ones. The rigid separation of good and bad images of the self and of objects, on the one hand, and the fusion of self- and object images on the other, arose from the boy’s inability to tolerate ambivalence or anxiety. Because his anger was so intense, he could not admit that he harbored aggressive feelings toward those he loved. “Fear and guilt relating to his destructive phantasies moulded his whole emotional life.”
A child who feels so gravely threatened by his own aggressive feelings (projected onto others and then internalized again as inner “monsters”) attempts to compensate himself for his experience of rage and envy with fantasies of wealth, beauty, and omnipotence. These fantasies, together with the internalized images of the good parents with which he attempt to defend himself, become the core of a “grandiose conception of the self.” A kind of “blind optimism,” according to Otto Kernberg, protects the narcissistic child from the dangers around and within him - particularly from dependence on others, who are perceived as without exception undependable. “Constant projection of ‘all bad’ self and object images perpetuates a world of dangerous, threatening objects, against which the ‘all good’ self images are used defensively, and megalomanic ideal self images are built up.” The splitting of images determined by aggressive feelings from images that derive from libidinal impulses makes it impossible for the child to acknowledge his own aggression, to experience guilt or concern for objects invested simultaneously with aggression and libido, or to mourn for lost objects. Depression in narcissistic patients takes the form not of mourning with its admixture of guilt, described by Freud in “Mourning and Melancholia,” but of impotent rage and “feelings of defeat by external forces.”
Because the intrapsychic world of these patients is so thinly populated - consisting only of the “grandiose self,” in Kernberg’s words, “the devalued, shadowy images of self and others, and potential persecutors” - they experience intense feelings of emptiness and inauthenticity. Although the narcissist can function in the everyday world and often charms other people (not least with his “pseudo-insight into his personality”), his devaluation of others, together with his lack of curiosity about them, impoverishes his personal life and reinforces the “subjective experience of emptiness.” Lacking any real intellectual engagement with the world - notwithstanding a frequency inflated estimate of his own intellectual abilities - he has little capacity for sublimation. He therefore depends on others for constant infusions of approval and admiration. He “must attach [himself] to someone, living an almost parasitic” existence. At the same time, his fear of emotional dependence, together with his manipulative, exploitive approach to personal relations, makes these relations bland, superficial, and deeply unsatisfying. “The ideal relationship to me would be a two month relationship,” said a borderline patient. “That way there’d be no commitment. At the end of the two months I’d just break it off.”
Chronically bored, restlessly in search of instantaneous intimacy - of emotional titillation without involvement and dependence - the narcissist is promiscuous and often pansexual as well, since the fusion of pregenital and Oedipal impulses in the service of aggression encourages polymorphous perversity. The bad images he has internalized also make him chronically uneasy about his health, and hypochondria in turn gives him a special affinity for therapy and for therapeutic groups and movements.
As a psychiatric patient, the narcissist is a prime candidate for interminable analysis. He seeks in analysis a religion or way of life and hopes to find in the therapeutic relationship external support for his fantasies of omnipotence and eternal youth. The strength of his defenses, however, makes him resistant to successful analysis. The shallowness of his emotional life often prevents him from developing a close connection to the analyst, even though he “often uses his intellectual insight to agree verbally with the analyst and recapitulates in his own words what has been analysed in previous sessions.” He uses intellect in the service of evation rather than self-discovery, resorting to some of the same strategies of obfuscation that appear in the confessional writing of recent decades. “The patient uses the analytic interpretations but deprives them quickly of life and meaning, so that only meaningless words are left. The words are then felt to be the patient’s own pression, which he idealizes and which give him a sense of superiority.” Although psychiatrists no longer consider narcissistic disorders inherently unanalyzable, few of them take an optimistic view of the prospects for success.

According to Kernberg, the great argument for making the attempt at all, in the face of the many difficulties presented by narcissistic patients, is the devastating effect of narcissism on the second half of their lives - the certainty of the terrible suffering that lies in store. In a society that dreads old age and death, aging holds a special terror for those who fear dependence and whose self-esteem requires the admiration usually reserves for youth, beauty, celebrity, or charm. The usual defenses against the ravages of age - identification with ethical or artistic values beyond one’s immediate interests, intellectual curiosity, the consoling emotional warmth derived from happy relationships in the past - can do nothing for the narcissist. Unable to derive whatever comfort comes from identification with historical continuity, he finds it impossible, on the contrary, “to accept the fact that a younger generation now possesses many of the previously cherished gratifications of beauty, wealth, power and, particularly, creativity. To be able to enjoy life in a process involving a growing identification with other people’s happiness and achievements is tragically beyond the capacity of narcissistic personalities.”

I'm not being mean or judgemental but I simply want to express my feelings and I'm saying this on behalf of us, women. I hate the fact that probably all men have watched porn before. Many women know nothing about this industry but this is not the problem. The problem is the fact that many men have a really wrong idea about sex. Women in those films have many plastic surgeries.
First, I can spot all of the breast implants, BBLs, the hair extensions, liposunctions (عمليات لنحت الجسم)... Second, women in these videos are literally peeing and this is not negotiable, this is not "squirting" by any chance.
And I'm sick of the weird and tiring positions that they all make, I'm sick of how "extreme" the scenes are: the unrealistic scenarios, the weird contexts, the screaming, the plastic bodies. In my opinion, this industry is based on the MALE GAZE. It's something in the cinema industry that depends on showing what the man wants to see and let's not give a shit about the female spectator. So we tend to show a man that is dominant and a woman that is submissive. A man who has a weird strong body that shreds the body of the woman with him. It nourishes the virility of men and diffuses a stupid message for them: the more powerful you are, the more you do weird disgusting shit during the intercourse. And it satisfies a sadistic part in many male viewers.
Please men, sex should be intimate and sensual and it's not supposed to be this disgusting. All of this licking, "slurping", exaggerated screams can be a huge turn off to women, especially in an arab muslim country. Women here will really be disgusted if these acts were applied during their intercoure.
I'm just yapping I know but I just wish you can understand that women can have other farytale expectations about sleeping with her man and this huge gap between the male and female thoughts can be really problematic. Soo... be more critical and considerate maybe🤷🏻‍♀️