No way, you're still going? Congrats, man! I'm proud of your dedication
I don't have time to catch up on everything right now, sadly. I'm supposed to be doing informatics work
But! Absolutely splendid. Keep up the good work <3
Hey Mage, it's good to see you around. I'm happy you could stop by in this forum's dark days. Best of luck with your Informatics studies and other things!
I have been updating my story on fanfiction.net and will continue to do so. Might consider also uploading it elsewhere. Planet Minecraft has too many content restrictions, so I'll probably wait until a better alternative shows up before posting on a forum again.
For the community aspect in the meantime... not sure. I guess there could be a Minefic Discord if there is enough interest.
Edit: Aaaaand just as I was about to say my condolences, the site gets a new owner.
Hey guys, it's me. I don't know how the accouns work or how to transfer my old one to the new owner but I've been out of the game for a while. I graduated college now and I just got into playing Minecraft again. Hope things are good with you, and I'd be game for a Discord.
After much delay, I am pleased to announce to you all: Chapter 67: Happy for You. We get a bit of a break from the action, as Iris has time to reflect on her choices.
I have a bit of a backlog, so hopefully I will be able to upload another new chapter sooner rather than later. In the meantime, enjoy the cliffhanger!
I am pleased to announce Chapter 69: Absence! Three things remain missing, and we still do not know why. A professional explains one, but their actions are resented. Is Two a sign of something bigger? Or just a coincidence? There is much to learn, yet much is still misunderstood...
Chapter 70: Fading Memory has been released! Iris has been faced by something inevitable. But inevitable in what sense? Should she be most concerned about the present, or does the near future contain greater perils?
All these questions... and more... are UNanswered... in the next, super-premium chapter... with complimentary pineapple toppings.
The most important question, though... does the Minecraft Forum support the pineapple emoji?
Chapter 71: A New Home, and Chapter 72: Missing Piece have been released! Something is missing, life is just is not the same. But it is time for something new. A new beginning, perhaps?
My eyes open slowly from a dreamless sleep, the light bringing my vision into focus. Mom has already left the room, while Rose lays beside me, sleeping on her side, her stretched apart legs visible as bumps in the crumpled blankets.
I sit up, focusing my mind just below my heart, where the energy of my mana pool ought to be. But I still find nothing. Is my illness permanent? Was the dream of Kenneth sifting through my mind just an illusion of false hope?
I cope and get out of bed. On the dining table, there is some cooked fish and fruit. At the back of the room, the elderly couple sleeps in chairs by the fire. I eat some fish and fruit for breakfast. Then, my mother walks in through the front door. She tells me good morning, orders me to look after Rose while she scouts for remaining monsters, then leaves.
Rose wakes up shortly after. She eats some breakfast, then stares longingly at the door. I try to distract her by starting a sightspotting game, giving her hints on objects in the kitchen and outside the window. But Rose cannot stand still, and grows impatient of making incorrect guesses.
"Rose, what do you want to do?"
Rose walks slowly and awkwardly in a squiggly line. She is unusually restless.
"I want to... climb a tree."
"You cannot leave the house right now. It is too dangerous."
"I KNOW. It is morning. I am not THAT stupid."
"You look like you are about to make a run for the door."
"I am NOT. I am going to work out."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Rose falls forward onto her hands and starts doing push-ups. In other words, exercise. I am disturbed by her level of energy this early in the morning. At the same time, she seems to have found a way to occupy herself. If she is so self-sufficient all of a sudden, why should I bother looking after her? I would rather go do something else.
"Are you going to keep doing that until Mom comes back?"
Rose says something unintelligible, which I interpet as a 'yes'. So, I discharge my role as Rose's bodyguard, and return to the solace of the bedroom.
I sift through the crates, deciding which book to to read. I select a book on the political history of the eleventh dynasty of Cantor. I adjust a pillow on the bed, and sit down. I sigh. Peace at last. I open the cover of the book, letting my eyes sink into the words.
Then, my entire body shudders as I hear loud and awful screams coming from the foyer.
I drop the book and sprint outside the bedroom. The three demon children are screaming and running through the house, and Rose has joined them. The elderly couple has sat up in their chairs, no doubt awoken by their behavior. The lone parent stands in front of the other bedroom door uselessly, meekly scolding their behavior.
The screaming and stomping of Rose and the other children pierces my ears and rattles my skull. I feel a deep rage boil within me. I step outside of the bedroom. I refuse to stand idly by as these spoiled brats rip away my solitude.
I command my mind to break through the barrier separating my mana pool from my body, and pull hard. I feel pain in my hands, my arms, my legs. Horrible, piercing, unintelligible pain.
But then the energy starts to flow within me. It is generous. It is enough to kill.
I begin to focus a lethal lightning spell into my hands. This is a crucial moment, worthy of my pain. I do not care if I injure myself, if in the end it brings me satisfaction. I could kill them all...
But death will not teach them a lesson.
With the return of magic comes the return of my inner voice of reason. I assess the situation. The screaming, stampeding children have so far refused to acknowledge my presence. The incompetent adult is unarmed, but I do not want to risk becoming defenseless against them. I will only punish one child. It will be sufficient, if the terror inflicted is deep enough. And they will serve as an example for the others.
I look to Rose, as she screams and spins and smiles spitefully. The child who was shy and meek, but then adopted the chaos to terrorize me. The child who insists she is not my sister, yet has a name so similar to my own. The child who pretends to be stupid, but then turns around and psychoanalyses my father as if she has known him her whole life. How deceptive and two-faced she is! What other secrets are you hiding from me, Rose?
I coalesce my energy into a ball upon my tongue, and focus my will upon her screaming face. My mind, idle in magic for so long, converges quickly upon the word with singular rage.
My voice booms, echoing through the house far louder than any child could counter.
"SILENCE!"
The burst of energy leaves my body. The voidfire lesions deepen in my hands, my arms, my legs. The pain is almost unbearable. But I plaster away my grimace and replace it with a proud smile, as I watch Rose collapse on the ground and look up to me with horror.
I walk closer to her so I can witness her suffering more clearly. The mouth of Rose opens and closes stiffly like the mouth of a stranded, gasping fish, as every scream, utterance, and grunt she attempts is deprived of sound, and her lips and tongue likewise refuse to move, making it impossible to discern any meaning from her face. And her legs, once so effective at making stomping sounds, now lie stiffly upon the ground. I am especially proud of that part. Usually, the spell only works on the voice.
Rose then claws at her throat with her hands, trying in vain to scrape away the intangible spell which now affects her.
I step my shoe upon Rose's hands to stop them moving, so that I can look clearly into her face.
"Tell me, Rose, how did it feel to think you were the only daughter? Were you an obedient, happy child? Or a rule-breaking, cynical one? Just kidding! I do not need to know the answers! Because I already know what they are."
The three other kids say "ooo" and giggle to themselves. They have huddled on the other side of Rose, so mystified by the terror I have inflicted upon Rose, that they have stopped stampeding. So, you children think this is a spectator sport? Fine. You watching is all the better to observe the lesson.
I prepare to pick apart Rose's ego. "I know a lot more about you than you think, Rose. I know your last name is Matterhelm. I know you are much smarter than you pretend you are..."
My mother crashes open the front door and runs toward me.
She shouts, "What are you doing?!?"
I smile. Perfect timing. "Do not step closer, or I will kill her."
My mother's feet freeze onto the floor, and she looks at me with agony.
"I know that look. That is a look of a mother who is afraid for her daughter's life. Is Rose your daughter? Do not lie to me."
My mother pleads, "What terrible evil have you brought upon us, my child? What demonic spirit has compelled you... or magic, perhaps... such that you could kill Rose, the child you slept with, and not think twice of it? Yes, it is true. Rose is your sister. Please do not torture me in this way, for this lie I have told you."
"Why did you hide the truth from me?" I snap.
My mother flinches. "I was afraid you would leave me again, if you thought I had replaced you."
"I already told you the reason I came here! You knew I was not homesick. Tell me the real reason."
"That is the real and only reason. I swear by it." My mother hesitates. "Perhaps I have been irrational," she repents. "I do not even remember the reason you gave me for your return. My mind may have filled in some gaps. But that is of no consequence compared to the very fate of my younger daughter that you now hold in your hands. Please, Iris. Let your sister go."
No. I will not. Especially because you asked. Rose is my only leverage. And I like her under my foot.
"When did Rose spawn?"
"Three years ago."
"Why did she spawn?"
"She was a product of me and your father's love."
"Do you still love each other?"
"Of course we do."
"Do not lie to me!" I yell.
My mother flinches again.
"Well... if I'm honest, I wish we could have spent more time together. But with the war going on, and all that, it can't be helped."
I sigh, feeling unsatisfied. I sense the energy left inside me. It will last a few minutes. My mother is still hiding how she really feels. She distrusts me. And Rose is still a stranger to me. I want the truth. But this questioning is getting nowhere.
And I do not want just the truth. I want solitude. I want to be free of the chaos of humans which behave like animals. I want to have a room, just for myself, at all hours of the day. And I want adults to stop patronizing me and start treating me with respect. All these things I could demand for myself, if only I had enough magic. But I am too weak.
I cut off the flow of my magic which sustains the Silence spell I placed upon Rose. She should have learned her lesson by now. And I need to preserve what remains of my body.
I look down at the damage, and see the silver lesions glowing brightly on my arms and through my clothes.
------------
The next day, my mother brings me behind the house to speak with me privately. She lectures to me on the importance of controlling my emotions. Then she starts talking about my magic.
"Iris, I do not know what motivates you to use magic in this way. Those glowing white webs which grow upon your skin... they are from a disease, a parasite. I do not know how else to explain it. But it is clearly slowly killing you, each time you try to use its power. And it seems to also be corrupting your mind. Such magic has no place in humanity. It is dark magic. I am not certain I can convince you to stop using it. There is a large part of your life which is hidden from me now. And I really, really wish you would tell me about it. But since that's not going to happen, I merely ask that you keep your dark magic a secret. Not for my safety, but for yours. Can you promise to me that you will do that?"
I nod reluctantly. Never have I felt so misunderstood and insulted, that my mother has mistaken this horrible illness as my magic. But there is truth in her words. Her irrational fear is the truth I wanted, the true sign of the disdain she really feels for me. Her disdain is a warning of how others in this town will perceive me. They will feel a fear and hatred, free of the tempering of a mother's love. I will never belong here.
And, after I have threatened to kill Rose, I do not think my mother will ever treat me the same.
I am alive and safe, for now. But the road forward is clear. I must exile myself on my own terms.
Chapter 74: True Faith
A few nights later, my strength recovered, I lay awake in bed, waiting for my mother and Rose to fall asleep. Then I slowly lean out of bed. I tiptoe across the room, and take a sword, sheath, satchel, and leather armor from the crates.
I equip myself slowly and quietly, and grip my sword tightly. I tiptoe to the bedroom door, and turn the knob. The hinge of the door creaks. I pause and look behind me. Mother and Rose are still asleep in bed.
I continue opening the door very slowly. I step across the large front room, unlock the front door, walk around to the eastern side of the building, and begin my exile.
As I walk through the stumps and into the forest, I see a familiar, grey-robed figure, leaning against a distant tree. His hood is down, his face illuminated by the moonlight, revealing a stern and concerned Kenneth Forthright.
I walk up to him. His presence so close to my house is an unsettling coincidence, but also a relief.
"Master, I did not expect to see you here."
"I was worried you wouldn't come out," Kenneth says. "Sarah was getting close to turning you into a skeleton. She was convinced you had given up your apprenticeship, and that somehow your soul was free for the taking like one of those animated corpses she fishes out of the earth, and had a necromancer bureaucracy to back her up. Ridiculous, I know."
He pushes himself upright from the tree.
"I'm sorry I couldn't just take you back. Standing and waiting was part of the bureaucratic agreement. You're lucky to be alive right now."
"I am sorry, master. I promise I will not run away again."
"Running away wasn't even the half of it," Kenneth argues. "That Silence spell you cast a few days ago was incredibly reckless. Not only were you sick, but the spell itself is forbidden and should never be cast."
"Why not? I just wanted some kids to shut up."
"That makes it even worse!" Kenneth sighs with disdain. "Look, I don't expect you to understand since you're still a young apprentice. Just promise me you will never cast it again."
"I promise."
"Good." Kenneth leans back against the tree, and says no more.
"Are you still going to take me back?" I ask.
Kenneth mocks me, "I don't know, Iris, am I?"
"I still want to be a void mage."
Kenneth stares down at me with cynicism. "Then prove it."
I can feel the pressure from my master's call to allegiance. I think back to my parents. My father is either dead or missing. My mother no longer trusts me. I was a fool to think she wanted me back. She distrusted me, even before I learned magic.
My master, on the other hand, has earned my trust. The knowledge he has given me has made me what I am. He respects me. His rules and punishments have gravity to them. They have shaped me and brought me closer to my ambitions. Thanks to him, I see the world now as it truly is: a world of mostly automatons, capable of intelligence, but missing an unspeakable truth. I understand now why I always felt like I did not belong.
I drop onto my knees and bow my head.
"Master, please take me back," I tell him. "I promise I will never run away from you again. I want to be your apprentice again. I want to become a void mage. I will even expose myself to the deep void, if that is what you think is best."
Kenneth kneels down and places his hand on my shoulder.
"Nothing would please me more," he says, "than for you to be my apprentice again. But with these wounds you have, it will take time before you are ready for the void again.
Kenneth lifts his hand from my shoulder with mercy. He offers his hand to me, and I use it to pull myself up.
We walk through the forest, until Sarah, dressed in her brown robe, stands before us.
"She wants to continue her apprenticeship," Kenneth says.
Sarah looks at me and smirks. "I thought so."
Sarah closes her eyes and furrows her brow in concentration. A moment later, she opens her eyes, nods to us, and holds out one hand to each of us.
I take Sarah's hand. Red sparks rise up from the ground and swarm around us in increasing numbers, until all I can see is red light. My body lightens, and then the red sparks dissipate. We are in front of Kenneth's house.
Sarah lets go of Kenneth's hand and says, "I need to talk to Iris alone for a bit. Bureaucracy: you know how it is. The undead army recruiters gotta have stuff on the record."
"Of course, I understand," Kenneth says.
Then, Sarah teleports me again with a swarm of red sparks.
------------
I scream and throw the unfinished book against the shelf.
How could Iris be so stupid?
As the book falls to the floor, it disturbs a pile of pages into the air. One of the pages flies upward and sticks to my arm. I tear it off. I skim the page. It is from one of her study sessions. I throw it aside.
I mean, seriously, what kind of person becomes someone's apprentice, gets tortured because of it, and then COMES BACK FOR MORE?
The book lays backside-up on the ground, refusing to answer the question for me.
I get it. Iris wants knowledge and power. And Kenneth understands her better than anyone else.
But that's because he reads her mind, and then tells her exactly what she wants to hear. He convinces Iris that he's just like her. That the world is so corrupt and broken that she shouldn't feel bad about breaking its arbitrary rules. And that he, who, unlike anyone else, exists outside of this tyrannical world, knows how to make her dreams real.
It is a fantasy, an ideal so high that it can't be reached no matter how far you climb. A fantasy supported by a mountain of lies and false promises so high, that your mind becomes so twisted, that up becomes down, and evil becomes good, and you forget how to climb back down again.
No amount of magical power is worth sacrificing one's soul in this way.
Even if the anti-aging effects of magic have trapped you in the mind of a child, wouldn't you realize at this point that this whole ordeal is too good to be true?
I bend over and pick up the book I threw, and turn it upright. A few pages have stuck to its cover, presenting themselves to me.
I peel the first orphaned page off of the cover and begin to read it. Out of the corners of my eyes, I see the torn fragments at the edges of the page fuse together. The faded flint script beneath my eyes becomes thicker and darker, making it easier to read.
This is from Iris' conversation with Sarah after her return. It belongs next.
I peel off each page from the cover and read it. They are all from the same moment. Most of the words describe Iris recounting to Sarah her experience being away from Kenneth for the past few weeks, how surreal it was to return to her childhood home, yet painful to endure a life without magic. I skim it quickly. The details are already familiar to me.
Iris learned nothing from her experience. She was too deluded, too invested into her years of study. But I can't help but wonder if she could have learned something, if only she stayed with her family a little longer.
I just wish I could go back in time, far away across the other side of the Farland Rifts. I wish I could be in the room with her, like Sarah, and talk some sense into her.
As Iris recounts her story to Sarah, Sarah's guilt and worry can't help but spill out onto her face, in spite of her divine assignment. Sarah really does want Iris to be happy.
Maybe she feels powerless, just like I do. But she opens her mouth, figuring it's worth a try.
"I don't think you understand how lucky you are, to see your parents again," Sarah tells Iris. "My real parents were both killed by miners when I was very young. Then I was adopted by them. I was furious when I found out the truth. It's sort of the reason why I'm a necromancer."
Sarah pulls her head back, reflecting sentimentally. "I used to be a very different person, back then, when I was a Level 1. I was a cold-blooded killer that would do whatever I was told. My hatred for miners was fresh, and I was full of passion after learning the Word of Herobrine and his plans for the world.
"I've changed since then. Now, I think critically about the cause I am part of. Like, yea, there's a lot of death and destruction sometimes, but there's a lot more to it than that, like the dimensional research I'm doing with Kenneth and Miner, for example. And it's not for its own sake, it's because we're trying to preserve nature, and humanity has sinned and stuff.
"Which brings me back to you." Sarah looks down at Iris and smirks. "Up until recently, you have been an obedient apprentice of Mage Forthright, doing everything he has told you. But are you certain now that's the right thing?"
At this point, I can feel Iris considering Sarah's words for a moment, but then she rejects them, and doubles down on her delusions. I throw these pages onto the ground, leaving them to rot. I do not want to embody this darkness.
The seriousness of my cousin's near-death imprisonment is still sinking in. Dan's health is in an uncertain state. But even if Dan's freedom wasn't contingent on a demon hunt, our chances of catching the demon would be pretty slim without him.
Chevron says to cousin Dan, "Indeed. If we charge headfirst at the demon, it will be like we are walking barefoot into a room blindfolded, which may be covered with spikes. And Fristad's life would not be spared. But we are not going to fight the demon in that way. We will study the demon from afar, as one does when fighting any sort of powerful mage. And only after we have understood it will we attempt to defeat it," Chevron nods with approval toward Dan, "and with your intuition for the minds of many beings, I have no doubt we will succeed."
Dan's brows furrow. "This demon is running away from us. It doesn't want to be followed. If we chase it, it will most certainly respond with agression."
"Precisely. I'd like to avoid that as long as possible," Chevron says. "Avoid direct contact, and approach discreetly when needed."
Dan smiles knowingly, "Such an effort will require a large set of skills. How many of your trusted Arch-Mage friends will join us?"
"Did I say they were Arch-Magi? I may have fibbed a bit to get you out of that cell. Why don't we talk somewhere more private? We wouldn't want to attract prying ears..."
We scout out a narrow alleyway and continue our conversation there.
"So they aren't Arch-Magi?" Dan inquires. "Now I'm curious! Because no ordinary miners or magi would be up to this task. And given my void magic, the city guard is out of the question. You wouldn't happen to have a secret life of crime like I do, perhaps?"
Chevron grins. "Strictly publicly speaking... I am but a law-abiding Arch Mage with ties to the city's Mage Guild. Crime, subterfuge, and dark magic are not on my resume."
"Oh, that's right, I forgot! What a shame," Dan smiles knowingly. "I don't suppose you know some high-ranking necromancer in the city, then? Preferably one with a specialization in souls."
"I do, actually," Chevron grins smugly. "Not with a specialization in souls though, I'm afraid."
"Ah yes, what a shame..." Dan laments. "Wait, come again? You know a necromancer?"
"Yes, I've known the Overseer of Bluesteel for many years. He's quite the character."
"'Quite the character?'" I echo. "Now THAT's a euphemism if I've heard one. I'd thought that you, an Arch-Mage of Fire, bound by honor, widely renown in the city, and admired by my former human self, would have better tact, and surely better moral options."
Chevron and Dan look at each other knowingly, then burst out laughing.
Chevron takes a deep breath. "Indeed, we have been dealt an unfortunate fate, which requires the expertise of a servant of Herobrine, of all people! If only there were mages of Void in the city guard! Ah, an old woman can dream."
"Okay, why were BOTH of you laughing? Have you two been keeping Chevron's relationship with a necromancer a secret from me this whole time?" I ask.
Dan smiles mysteriously. "The best-kept secret is a secret that you don't know."
"So... you guessed?"
Dan's arm swipes across my face. Before I can process the danger, he's torn off my goggles and is staring straight into my eyes.
"No, Jonas. I simply asked a question."
I frown indignantly. "I could have killed you!"
Dan hands me my goggles back.
"Huh. I guess you could have. My apologies."
I re-equip the goggles. At this point I'm not sure if Dan has gone crazy or is just showing off. Maybe I'm not as Ender as I thought I was, but even so... I'm not taking chances.
"Let's go find the necromancer," Chevron declares. "He has a hideaway in the Sprigs, which is not far from here."
------------
I still can't believe that my grandmother knows a necromancer. Given my past misdeeds in the Red Aether, I am not exactly welcome there, and I've seen firsthand the terrible things they do. Nevertheless, we are proceeding with the plan. Given our circumstances, recruiting Chevron's alleged necromancer friend is our best shot for saving Fristad. I just hope my new halfblood appearance is enough to absolve me of suspicion.
I teleport us to a market where Chevron buys Dan some more well-fitting clothes. He is indecisive, but eventually chooses some grey pants and a buttoned white shirt, similar to his old outfit although not as high quality. Chevron makes the purchase, and Dan then gets himself dressed in a loo. As he emerges, we see that his new outfit fits him much better, although the sleeves are a bit short. Wearing smaller clothes and being deprived of his grey mage's cloak seems to have hurt his confidence a bit.
Chevron then buys materials for an iron sword and a sheath, and gives them to Dan.
Dan frowns. "Only a few iron?"
"Sorry, Vrendan, I know you prefer diamond. I was in a rush to pack, and as such I'm a bit light on credits at the moment," Chevron admits. "We can equip ourselves better later, with armor as well."
Dan crafts himself a new iron sword. He gives it a few swings and nods with approval. He then crafts a sheath which fits his new sword, fastens it to his waist, and slides his new sword halfway into its sheath. He then presses his hand against his hilt, muttering one of the Imbuement spells. When his spell ends, a faint orange glint hovers over his sword handle, evidence of fire magic, enhancing the sword with a temporary enchantment.
Dan's grin grows. "I must say, it is good to have a sword again."
Nervously, I recall that I left Sunshine and the hogs behind when I left Cubit's apartment, and our supplies and money are in those bags. I set this guilt aside, to avoid delaying our trip any further. They're as good as gone at this point.
Chevron then guides us toward the secret hideout of the necromancer.
------------
We soon enter the Sprigs, the neighborhood in which Chevron's necromancer friend allegedly lives.
It is not an area I know too well, and I find it surprisingly charming. Thick moss lays upon the old stone brick roads. Unkempt senior oak trees and thick bushes loiter in the alleys of the narrow apartment lots and mildly trespass onto the streets. The roads are on the quiet side, just occupied by the occasional lone pedestrian, keeping their head low or straight ahead. On a roof, a kid and a teenager spar with wooden swords, a nostalgic sight that takes me many years back. I remember when I used to teach Fristad how to sword fight in sparring matches like that. Fristad was like my godson to me back then. He was very different as a kid. Restless, never stopped talking, a troublemaker out of boredom rather than boldness.
I pull myself out of my reminiscence.
"How much further until we meet him?" I ask Chevron.
"Go to this tunnel up ahead."
I teleport us to the entrance of a tunnel, and we walk inside. The world on the other side of my goggles becomes dark. Torches are few and far between. Chevron and Dan unsheath their glimmering swords.
"This way," says Chevron, turning left toward a stone wall.
Chevron puts her fingers on the wall, and whispers in the traditional dialect, "Daggers and malice out, friends in."
Chevron's voice faintly echoes with power. Falling dust hisses as a portion of the wall carves into the shape of a stone door. Chevron pulls the stone handle outward. The door creaks as if it is made of wood.
Our grandmother Chevron enters and beckons us inside.
The room is sparsely lit. Along the walls of the room are shelves with boxes and sealed barrels, covered with dust.
Chevron turns around and waves her hand, and the stone door closes and morphs back into the wall, trapping us inside.
"Don't be deceived by the appearance of this room," warns Chevron. "The entrance is here, just not in this physical space."
"I had a feeling it was too easy to get here," says Dan.
"Kara?" Chevron says. "Are you here?"
After a moment, a male voice speaks out. "Kara is no longer here."
"Who are you?" asks Chevron. "What happened to Kara?"
Chevron and the voice exchange a few questions. The voice's responses are evasive, and don't reveal much. But Kara was most likely turned into a zombie as a form of punishment. Zombies face an agonizing and unfulfilling existence that lasts for eternity. The servants of Herobrine know this best of all. That's one thing that makes them especially cruel.
Then, a man walks out of nothingness and stands in front of Chevron. His clothes are, surprisingly, quite reasonable. Business casual, actually. I was expecting something more fierce or monastic.
"The outer ward is activated. You can speak freely now," says the man.
"I am Arch Mage Chevron Ti'Drannes." She points toward Dan. "This is my grandson and apprentice, Mage Vrendan Ti'Drannes." She points toward me. "And this is my assistant, Marth."
I nod agreeably and give a shallow bow, trying my best to absorb the new temporary identity. I'm now Marth, Arch-Mage Ti'Drannes' loyal assistant. Relationship strictly professional. Got it.
"I don't trust creatures with purple eyes," remarks the man.
"Don't worry, I will make sure he's well-behaved." says Chevron. "We are here to see the Overseer, Whiteriver. We have important business to discuss."
"Few outsiders know the Bluesteel Overseer's name and live," the man says. "Evidently, you are no stranger to the servants of Herobrine. But I would advise against bringing others with you, especially not Ender. I can bring you to him. But I guarantee nothing."
"I would expect nothing more," Chevron says. "Please proceed."
------------
The Herobrinian assistant in business casual clothing walks away and fades into red mist, and returns with three metal rods. He hands one to each of us. The length of my rod fits just within my palm.
"Hold on tight to these," says the man, "or you will die."
The rod within my hand begins to glow red and shake, and my entire body is suddenly rippling along with it. I can feel it compressing my bones. This isn't the sort of teleportation trick you want to teach to your grandkids.
The first thing I notice on the other side is the incredibly overpowering smell of coal soot and rotten flesh. It is a hard smell to forget. This is the Red Aether, the dimension of ever-present red smog, the land of the dead, the place I had tried so hard to escape in a desperate attempt to preserve my memories. Even worse, we are in the heart of an "administrative building," where necromancers and the undead of the Aether Guard roam in abundance. There are few places more unfitting for a soul criminal like me to be. Here's to hoping my new halfblood form hides my name. There's no point in praying here, since the other gods will not hear me.
Beneath our feet, a fifteen meter, circular rune is engraved into the stone floor. A rune of this size is designed to teleport a hundred undead at once. No wonder it was so hard on my body! I still feel like my elbows are dislocated. That will hurt tomorrow.
I observe Dan, worried of his age. He seems unphased by the dimensional jerk, but the true toll on his body is impossible to guess.
I look around. This whole building is massive. We are in a hall intersection with tall ceilings, red curtains, and stone columns. Skeletons with glowing red light in their eye sockets, a hallmark of the Aether Guard, run busily past us in all directions. Many carry scrolls. Others guard the walls, wielding bows. One red-eyed skeleton is sweeping the floor.
Most skeletons live a carefree life of carnage and evilness, free of the serious responsibilities of high-ranking necromancers, but also free from the eternal suffering of zombies. The Aether Guard is an exception. Their work never ends.
As we pass through the hall, many of the red eyes of the Aether Guard scrutinize me. It appears the Red Aether is not a place where endermen are welcome. That is not reassuring, and doesn't help my worries that someone in this place will find a reason to incriminate me. I resolve to stay quiet when possible, and keep my head low.
The man who led us here leads us to a door guarded by a dozen or so Aether Guard skeletons.
"I am bringing these three to see the Overseer," the man says to the skeleton guards.
The skeleton guards make room.
"I don't know how familiar the other two of you are with necromancers," says the man, "but here's some sincere advice: Keep your moral righteousness and humanistic philosophies - or Ender philosophies - to yourselves. Also, my name is Erin. I am a Level 3 and my assignment to this post is temporary."
The man opens the door for us, then leaves.
------------
High-level necromancers all have a different look to them, but there is an unmistakable aesthetic to them. Usually some unconventional armor, with some combination of a crazed wild look and/or antisocial demeanor. All the better to commit acts of unspeakable evil. Unlike the man who brought us here, who was dressed in acceptable business casual clothes, the Overseer of Bluesteel is in line with the common, more unpleasant trend.
He's more on the discheveled side: messy black hair, dark eyes, and an angular face, complemented with unusual yellow-tinted iron armor, possibly for shapeshifting. He sits with his elbow on a desk, holding a glowing redstone sphere in his hand. His posture conveys effectively that we should know better than to mess with him.
The man then spots us, and sets the sphere down onto his desk. His eyes fall upon me and narrow in suspicion, and I wonder with fear if he recognizes me somehow. Then, as if bored with me, his face turns toward Dan, and his expression morphs into contempt.
His eyes then focus upon Chevron, his expression cynical.
"Why are you here?"
Chevron says, "Overseer Whiteriver, a powerful void mage demon is on the loose in Bluesteel, and a dear friend of ours, Fristad, is under the demon's direct control. I request your assistance to help us hunt down the demon and save Fristad."
"Hunting down demons in my jurisdiction is certainly my business, but ensuring the preservation of human life complicates matters and breaks protocol." He sighs, exasperated, as if wondering why we bothered coming here. But then, he acknowledges without emotion, "How powerful is this demon? Where did it come from?"
Chevron gestures toward Dan. "My grandson, Vrendan, is an expert on sentient beings of all kinds. He will tell you."
There is on one hand a brief flash of nervousness in Dan's face, but he then collects his expertise. "The situation is concerning, to say the least. This demon was able to manipulate and influence Fristad for long periods of time. This may be a case of standard soul possession, but since the demon is also a void mage, we suspect they have used an incredibly powerful void spell instead. What is also concerning is that the demon has most likely switched to another vessel. If the vessel was undamaged when this happened, then this demon has a powerful soul. I'm not sure exactly how powerful."
"Fristad did hit it with an axe," I add. That was after Fristad turned on me, and tried to drive an arrow into my neck. The hatred I saw in his eyes still haunts me.
"That's a good point," says Dan.
Whiteriver postulates, "I assume this ender halfblood is with you due to its immunity to the void. Do you have the original vessel?"
"I have it." I supply the book to Whiteriver from my back pocket.
Whiteriver inspects the book. He frowns with disgust. "This is not a demon's vessel and it never was one. This is a blank book. You might as well throw it away."
Whiteriver returns the book to me. I stare at the book with fear. Did I misplace the book?
"I'm pretty sure that's the original vessel," Dan counters, "Hand that book to me and I'll show the Overseer why," says Dan.
I give Dan the book. Dan holds the book up, and conjures purple flames around the book. He smiles with satisfaction.
"Fascinating, isn't it? No mundane book is known to be immune to voidfire in this way."
Whiteriver sighs with annoyance. "Then it is Elor technology. And there is nothing "fascinating" about it. All of human technology exists to consume and deface Notch's gift of creation. How it traveled this far eastward is a problem for the WOC. Enfocement of human laws is of no concern to me."
"I was not aware the WOC had an enforcement department," Dan remarks, mirroring my unease. Indeed, an institution bent on suppressing technology from somewhere far west seems dystopian.
"It doesn't matter. Anyways, since I cannot sense a soul within this vessel, I have no way to know how powerful this demon is. I will have to drag other servants of Herobrine away from their very important work and into this wild goose chase, as a precaution. But first of all, let's discuss the terms."
"Yes, and you know how this goes," Chevron remarks. "Don't insult me. My soul is not for sale, and you still owe a debt to me. And I don't want you or your henchmen killing any civilians either."
"What you are asking is completely unreasonable. It doesn't just break protocol; it insults it! If the demon is as powerful as you say, we need all of the forces at our disposal to neutralize it. Such a weakling pacifist mission leaves me few options in terms of manpower, and is almost certainly doomed to fail. My soul will be on the line because of it. I will need you to pay in kind."
"Do you doubt your own abilities so? That you are concerned of receiving that kind of punishment?" Chevron challenges.
"I do not doubt them. I only quantify them."
"Then perhaps you can quantify this dragon scale." Chevron reaches inside her red robe and pulls out a pearlescent, black dragon scale the size of her palm, attached to a necklace. Dan has one just like it, which Chevron gave to him after my death. "It is a spoil of my ancestry, a powerful artifact. And it is the only one I own. Should we fail to capture the demon, it will be yours."
Whiteriver's face doesn't move much, but Chevron is grinning smugly, as if she knows how to play this game. Her ancestor's dragon scale is one of the most valuable things she owns. It is a hefty wager.
Whiteriver says, "I assume you do not intend to part with that dragon scale if the effort is successful. What will be my compensation then?"
Chevron calculates her offer. "I still know a number of dishonorable miners, magi, and businessfolk in the city, for whom societal norms compel me to ignore, but whose fates I may be willing to influence. If Fristad is returned to us safely, I may tell you one of their names."
Whiteriver says, "I want four unconditionally, and I want my debt eliminated. Another four if Fristad is saved."
"That can be arranged."
Writeriver walks around us, knocks on the doorframe, and yells loudly, "SCRIBE!"
The scribe, an Aether Guard, rushes into the room. Whiteriver dictates the contract to the scribe with droning precision. The scribe crouches on the floor, swiftly and precisely writing letters of blood.
Chevron then reads the finished scroll. She frowns, and sighs longingly. "I didn't imagine giving it away in that sense, but I suppose it makes sense. But it is a hard bargain indeed."
Chevron turns to Dan.
"Grandson, under this contract, if we fail to capture the demon, I do not just give away my dragon scale, but everything it represents. I can no longer tell the stories of our ancestry, or teach anyone about void magic. All those rights are transferred to Whiteriver."
Dan swivels his head toward Whiteriver and he sizes him up. He smirks with contempt. "How thrifty! But it's never gonna happen. Because I'm the most knowledgeable mage on souls there is in the region, and a bunch of necromancers are about to help us. Sign away!"
Whiteriver hands Chevron the pen. I watch in dread as Chevron signs at the bottom of the scroll. Whiteriver then presents an iron dagger to Chevron. She cuts her palm, and squeezes it. Her blood drips onto the paper. She doesn't even flinch.
Chevron then returns the pen and dagger to Whiteriver, who signs the scroll.
"So it is written," Whiteriver declares, and throws the pen and dagger upon the desk.
The scribe gingerly takes the scroll and pen from the desk, and departs. There is a sense of permanence to watching that blood-bound scroll contract leave the room.
My grandmother has wagered her ancestry, and sealed the fate of several city dwellers whose morality is unknown to me. It is yet more guilt that I must live with.
In spite of his confident grin, Dan's eyes likewise seem affixed upon the doorframe through which the scroll has fled. I can't imagine what's going through his head right now.
In spite of the harsh scorn Chevron gave Dan in her Sparrow's Bay lecture hall in the after hours, and in spite of his rebellious nature, Dan has always been the most faithful grandson, and yearns to preserve her legacy. The idea of losing a part of that must weigh heavily on him.
Hey Mage, it's good to see you around. I'm happy you could stop by in this forum's dark days. Best of luck with your Informatics studies and other things!
Yup. Wanted to stop by considering that everything is gonna be potatoed soon
My Discord is Teriksa_Sunwhit#0484
Have you heard from Oncie or Farteh?
OnceInALongTime: "You confuse me, Mage. Amazability should be a word so I could describe your words."
-Perpetually inactive-
Sweet, added you.
Sadly I don't know what Oncie and Farteh have been up to. They fell off the radar quite a while back.
Yeah, they did. I'm hoping that they pop up again to say farewell!
In any case, what are you going to do after the MCF gets archived? I mean, with your story, that is.
OnceInALongTime: "You confuse me, Mage. Amazability should be a word so I could describe your words."
-Perpetually inactive-
I have been updating my story on fanfiction.net and will continue to do so. Might consider also uploading it elsewhere. Planet Minecraft has too many content restrictions, so I'll probably wait until a better alternative shows up before posting on a forum again.
For the community aspect in the meantime... not sure. I guess there could be a Minefic Discord if there is enough interest.
Edit: Aaaaand just as I was about to say my condolences, the site gets a new owner.
Hey guys, it's me. I don't know how the accouns work or how to transfer my old one to the new owner but I've been out of the game for a while. I graduated college now and I just got into playing Minecraft again. Hope things are good with you, and I'd be game for a Discord.
Alright, I don't need much convincing. Done:
[redacted]
Might be fun, who knows? I'll leave the link up for a while.
Edit: Took the link down.
After much delay, I am pleased to announce to you all: Chapter 67: Happy for You. We get a bit of a break from the action, as Iris has time to reflect on her choices.
I have a bit of a backlog, so hopefully I will be able to upload another new chapter sooner rather than later. In the meantime, enjoy the cliffhanger!
Chapter 68: A Bitter Reminder, has been released! How will Iris respond to the reminder?
I am pleased to announce Chapter 69: Absence! Three things remain missing, and we still do not know why. A professional explains one, but their actions are resented. Is Two a sign of something bigger? Or just a coincidence? There is much to learn, yet much is still misunderstood...
I hope you enjoy the new chapter!
Chapter 70: Fading Memory has been released! Iris has been faced by something inevitable. But inevitable in what sense? Should she be most concerned about the present, or does the near future contain greater perils?
All these questions... and more... are UNanswered... in the next, super-premium chapter... with complimentary pineapple toppings.
The most important question, though... does the Minecraft Forum support the pineapple emoji?
🍍
Yes. Yes it does.
Well guys, it's been a while.
Chapter 71: A New Home, and Chapter 72: Missing Piece have been released! Something is missing, life is just is not the same. But it is time for something new. A new beginning, perhaps?
Part 8: The Nature of Darkness (continued)
I sit up, focusing my mind just below my heart, where the energy of my mana pool ought to be. But I still find nothing. Is my illness permanent? Was the dream of Kenneth sifting through my mind just an illusion of false hope?
I cope and get out of bed. On the dining table, there is some cooked fish and fruit. At the back of the room, the elderly couple sleeps in chairs by the fire. I eat some fish and fruit for breakfast. Then, my mother walks in through the front door. She tells me good morning, orders me to look after Rose while she scouts for remaining monsters, then leaves.
Rose wakes up shortly after. She eats some breakfast, then stares longingly at the door. I try to distract her by starting a sightspotting game, giving her hints on objects in the kitchen and outside the window. But Rose cannot stand still, and grows impatient of making incorrect guesses.
"Rose, what do you want to do?"
Rose walks slowly and awkwardly in a squiggly line. She is unusually restless.
"I want to... climb a tree."
"You cannot leave the house right now. It is too dangerous."
"I KNOW. It is morning. I am not THAT stupid."
"You look like you are about to make a run for the door."
"I am NOT. I am going to work out."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Rose falls forward onto her hands and starts doing push-ups. In other words, exercise. I am disturbed by her level of energy this early in the morning. At the same time, she seems to have found a way to occupy herself. If she is so self-sufficient all of a sudden, why should I bother looking after her? I would rather go do something else.
"Are you going to keep doing that until Mom comes back?"
Rose says something unintelligible, which I interpet as a 'yes'. So, I discharge my role as Rose's bodyguard, and return to the solace of the bedroom.
I sift through the crates, deciding which book to to read. I select a book on the political history of the eleventh dynasty of Cantor. I adjust a pillow on the bed, and sit down. I sigh. Peace at last. I open the cover of the book, letting my eyes sink into the words.
Then, my entire body shudders as I hear loud and awful screams coming from the foyer.
I drop the book and sprint outside the bedroom. The three demon children are screaming and running through the house, and Rose has joined them. The elderly couple has sat up in their chairs, no doubt awoken by their behavior. The lone parent stands in front of the other bedroom door uselessly, meekly scolding their behavior.
The screaming and stomping of Rose and the other children pierces my ears and rattles my skull. I feel a deep rage boil within me. I step outside of the bedroom. I refuse to stand idly by as these spoiled brats rip away my solitude.
I command my mind to break through the barrier separating my mana pool from my body, and pull hard. I feel pain in my hands, my arms, my legs. Horrible, piercing, unintelligible pain.
But then the energy starts to flow within me. It is generous. It is enough to kill.
I begin to focus a lethal lightning spell into my hands. This is a crucial moment, worthy of my pain. I do not care if I injure myself, if in the end it brings me satisfaction. I could kill them all...
But death will not teach them a lesson.
With the return of magic comes the return of my inner voice of reason. I assess the situation. The screaming, stampeding children have so far refused to acknowledge my presence. The incompetent adult is unarmed, but I do not want to risk becoming defenseless against them. I will only punish one child. It will be sufficient, if the terror inflicted is deep enough. And they will serve as an example for the others.
I look to Rose, as she screams and spins and smiles spitefully. The child who was shy and meek, but then adopted the chaos to terrorize me. The child who insists she is not my sister, yet has a name so similar to my own. The child who pretends to be stupid, but then turns around and psychoanalyses my father as if she has known him her whole life. How deceptive and two-faced she is! What other secrets are you hiding from me, Rose?
I coalesce my energy into a ball upon my tongue, and focus my will upon her screaming face. My mind, idle in magic for so long, converges quickly upon the word with singular rage.
My voice booms, echoing through the house far louder than any child could counter.
"SILENCE!"
The burst of energy leaves my body. The voidfire lesions deepen in my hands, my arms, my legs. The pain is almost unbearable. But I plaster away my grimace and replace it with a proud smile, as I watch Rose collapse on the ground and look up to me with horror.
I walk closer to her so I can witness her suffering more clearly. The mouth of Rose opens and closes stiffly like the mouth of a stranded, gasping fish, as every scream, utterance, and grunt she attempts is deprived of sound, and her lips and tongue likewise refuse to move, making it impossible to discern any meaning from her face. And her legs, once so effective at making stomping sounds, now lie stiffly upon the ground. I am especially proud of that part. Usually, the spell only works on the voice.
Rose then claws at her throat with her hands, trying in vain to scrape away the intangible spell which now affects her.
I step my shoe upon Rose's hands to stop them moving, so that I can look clearly into her face.
"Tell me, Rose, how did it feel to think you were the only daughter? Were you an obedient, happy child? Or a rule-breaking, cynical one? Just kidding! I do not need to know the answers! Because I already know what they are."
The three other kids say "ooo" and giggle to themselves. They have huddled on the other side of Rose, so mystified by the terror I have inflicted upon Rose, that they have stopped stampeding. So, you children think this is a spectator sport? Fine. You watching is all the better to observe the lesson.
I prepare to pick apart Rose's ego. "I know a lot more about you than you think, Rose. I know your last name is Matterhelm. I know you are much smarter than you pretend you are..."
My mother crashes open the front door and runs toward me.
She shouts, "What are you doing?!?"
I smile. Perfect timing. "Do not step closer, or I will kill her."
My mother's feet freeze onto the floor, and she looks at me with agony.
"I know that look. That is a look of a mother who is afraid for her daughter's life. Is Rose your daughter? Do not lie to me."
My mother pleads, "What terrible evil have you brought upon us, my child? What demonic spirit has compelled you... or magic, perhaps... such that you could kill Rose, the child you slept with, and not think twice of it? Yes, it is true. Rose is your sister. Please do not torture me in this way, for this lie I have told you."
"Why did you hide the truth from me?" I snap.
My mother flinches. "I was afraid you would leave me again, if you thought I had replaced you."
"I already told you the reason I came here! You knew I was not homesick. Tell me the real reason."
"That is the real and only reason. I swear by it." My mother hesitates. "Perhaps I have been irrational," she repents. "I do not even remember the reason you gave me for your return. My mind may have filled in some gaps. But that is of no consequence compared to the very fate of my younger daughter that you now hold in your hands. Please, Iris. Let your sister go."
No. I will not. Especially because you asked. Rose is my only leverage. And I like her under my foot.
"When did Rose spawn?"
"Three years ago."
"Why did she spawn?"
"She was a product of me and your father's love."
"Do you still love each other?"
"Of course we do."
"Do not lie to me!" I yell.
My mother flinches again.
"Well... if I'm honest, I wish we could have spent more time together. But with the war going on, and all that, it can't be helped."
I sigh, feeling unsatisfied. I sense the energy left inside me. It will last a few minutes. My mother is still hiding how she really feels. She distrusts me. And Rose is still a stranger to me. I want the truth. But this questioning is getting nowhere.
And I do not want just the truth. I want solitude. I want to be free of the chaos of humans which behave like animals. I want to have a room, just for myself, at all hours of the day. And I want adults to stop patronizing me and start treating me with respect. All these things I could demand for myself, if only I had enough magic. But I am too weak.
I cut off the flow of my magic which sustains the Silence spell I placed upon Rose. She should have learned her lesson by now. And I need to preserve what remains of my body.
I look down at the damage, and see the silver lesions glowing brightly on my arms and through my clothes.
------------
The next day, my mother brings me behind the house to speak with me privately. She lectures to me on the importance of controlling my emotions. Then she starts talking about my magic.
"Iris, I do not know what motivates you to use magic in this way. Those glowing white webs which grow upon your skin... they are from a disease, a parasite. I do not know how else to explain it. But it is clearly slowly killing you, each time you try to use its power. And it seems to also be corrupting your mind. Such magic has no place in humanity. It is dark magic. I am not certain I can convince you to stop using it. There is a large part of your life which is hidden from me now. And I really, really wish you would tell me about it. But since that's not going to happen, I merely ask that you keep your dark magic a secret. Not for my safety, but for yours. Can you promise to me that you will do that?"
I nod reluctantly. Never have I felt so misunderstood and insulted, that my mother has mistaken this horrible illness as my magic. But there is truth in her words. Her irrational fear is the truth I wanted, the true sign of the disdain she really feels for me. Her disdain is a warning of how others in this town will perceive me. They will feel a fear and hatred, free of the tempering of a mother's love. I will never belong here.
And, after I have threatened to kill Rose, I do not think my mother will ever treat me the same.
I am alive and safe, for now. But the road forward is clear. I must exile myself on my own terms.
I equip myself slowly and quietly, and grip my sword tightly. I tiptoe to the bedroom door, and turn the knob. The hinge of the door creaks. I pause and look behind me. Mother and Rose are still asleep in bed.
I continue opening the door very slowly. I step across the large front room, unlock the front door, walk around to the eastern side of the building, and begin my exile.
As I walk through the stumps and into the forest, I see a familiar, grey-robed figure, leaning against a distant tree. His hood is down, his face illuminated by the moonlight, revealing a stern and concerned Kenneth Forthright.
I walk up to him. His presence so close to my house is an unsettling coincidence, but also a relief.
"Master, I did not expect to see you here."
"I was worried you wouldn't come out," Kenneth says. "Sarah was getting close to turning you into a skeleton. She was convinced you had given up your apprenticeship, and that somehow your soul was free for the taking like one of those animated corpses she fishes out of the earth, and had a necromancer bureaucracy to back her up. Ridiculous, I know."
He pushes himself upright from the tree.
"I'm sorry I couldn't just take you back. Standing and waiting was part of the bureaucratic agreement. You're lucky to be alive right now."
"I am sorry, master. I promise I will not run away again."
"Running away wasn't even the half of it," Kenneth argues. "That Silence spell you cast a few days ago was incredibly reckless. Not only were you sick, but the spell itself is forbidden and should never be cast."
"Why not? I just wanted some kids to shut up."
"That makes it even worse!" Kenneth sighs with disdain. "Look, I don't expect you to understand since you're still a young apprentice. Just promise me you will never cast it again."
"I promise."
"Good." Kenneth leans back against the tree, and says no more.
"Are you still going to take me back?" I ask.
Kenneth mocks me, "I don't know, Iris, am I?"
"I still want to be a void mage."
Kenneth stares down at me with cynicism. "Then prove it."
I can feel the pressure from my master's call to allegiance. I think back to my parents. My father is either dead or missing. My mother no longer trusts me. I was a fool to think she wanted me back. She distrusted me, even before I learned magic.
My master, on the other hand, has earned my trust. The knowledge he has given me has made me what I am. He respects me. His rules and punishments have gravity to them. They have shaped me and brought me closer to my ambitions. Thanks to him, I see the world now as it truly is: a world of mostly automatons, capable of intelligence, but missing an unspeakable truth. I understand now why I always felt like I did not belong.
I drop onto my knees and bow my head.
"Master, please take me back," I tell him. "I promise I will never run away from you again. I want to be your apprentice again. I want to become a void mage. I will even expose myself to the deep void, if that is what you think is best."
Kenneth kneels down and places his hand on my shoulder.
"Nothing would please me more," he says, "than for you to be my apprentice again. But with these wounds you have, it will take time before you are ready for the void again.
Kenneth lifts his hand from my shoulder with mercy. He offers his hand to me, and I use it to pull myself up.
We walk through the forest, until Sarah, dressed in her brown robe, stands before us.
"She wants to continue her apprenticeship," Kenneth says.
Sarah looks at me and smirks. "I thought so."
Sarah closes her eyes and furrows her brow in concentration. A moment later, she opens her eyes, nods to us, and holds out one hand to each of us.
I take Sarah's hand. Red sparks rise up from the ground and swarm around us in increasing numbers, until all I can see is red light. My body lightens, and then the red sparks dissipate. We are in front of Kenneth's house.
Sarah lets go of Kenneth's hand and says, "I need to talk to Iris alone for a bit. Bureaucracy: you know how it is. The undead army recruiters gotta have stuff on the record."
"Of course, I understand," Kenneth says.
Then, Sarah teleports me again with a swarm of red sparks.
------------
I scream and throw the unfinished book against the shelf.
How could Iris be so stupid?
As the book falls to the floor, it disturbs a pile of pages into the air. One of the pages flies upward and sticks to my arm. I tear it off. I skim the page. It is from one of her study sessions. I throw it aside.
I mean, seriously, what kind of person becomes someone's apprentice, gets tortured because of it, and then COMES BACK FOR MORE?
The book lays backside-up on the ground, refusing to answer the question for me.
I get it. Iris wants knowledge and power. And Kenneth understands her better than anyone else.
But that's because he reads her mind, and then tells her exactly what she wants to hear. He convinces Iris that he's just like her. That the world is so corrupt and broken that she shouldn't feel bad about breaking its arbitrary rules. And that he, who, unlike anyone else, exists outside of this tyrannical world, knows how to make her dreams real.
It is a fantasy, an ideal so high that it can't be reached no matter how far you climb. A fantasy supported by a mountain of lies and false promises so high, that your mind becomes so twisted, that up becomes down, and evil becomes good, and you forget how to climb back down again.
No amount of magical power is worth sacrificing one's soul in this way.
Even if the anti-aging effects of magic have trapped you in the mind of a child, wouldn't you realize at this point that this whole ordeal is too good to be true?
I bend over and pick up the book I threw, and turn it upright. A few pages have stuck to its cover, presenting themselves to me.
I peel the first orphaned page off of the cover and begin to read it. Out of the corners of my eyes, I see the torn fragments at the edges of the page fuse together. The faded flint script beneath my eyes becomes thicker and darker, making it easier to read.
This is from Iris' conversation with Sarah after her return. It belongs next.
I peel off each page from the cover and read it. They are all from the same moment. Most of the words describe Iris recounting to Sarah her experience being away from Kenneth for the past few weeks, how surreal it was to return to her childhood home, yet painful to endure a life without magic. I skim it quickly. The details are already familiar to me.
Iris learned nothing from her experience. She was too deluded, too invested into her years of study. But I can't help but wonder if she could have learned something, if only she stayed with her family a little longer.
I just wish I could go back in time, far away across the other side of the Farland Rifts. I wish I could be in the room with her, like Sarah, and talk some sense into her.
As Iris recounts her story to Sarah, Sarah's guilt and worry can't help but spill out onto her face, in spite of her divine assignment. Sarah really does want Iris to be happy.
Maybe she feels powerless, just like I do. But she opens her mouth, figuring it's worth a try.
"I don't think you understand how lucky you are, to see your parents again," Sarah tells Iris. "My real parents were both killed by miners when I was very young. Then I was adopted by them. I was furious when I found out the truth. It's sort of the reason why I'm a necromancer."
Sarah pulls her head back, reflecting sentimentally. "I used to be a very different person, back then, when I was a Level 1. I was a cold-blooded killer that would do whatever I was told. My hatred for miners was fresh, and I was full of passion after learning the Word of Herobrine and his plans for the world.
"I've changed since then. Now, I think critically about the cause I am part of. Like, yea, there's a lot of death and destruction sometimes, but there's a lot more to it than that, like the dimensional research I'm doing with Kenneth and Miner, for example. And it's not for its own sake, it's because we're trying to preserve nature, and humanity has sinned and stuff.
"Which brings me back to you." Sarah looks down at Iris and smirks. "Up until recently, you have been an obedient apprentice of Mage Forthright, doing everything he has told you. But are you certain now that's the right thing?"
At this point, I can feel Iris considering Sarah's words for a moment, but then she rejects them, and doubles down on her delusions. I throw these pages onto the ground, leaving them to rot. I do not want to embody this darkness.
Table of Contents
Part 9
The seriousness of my cousin's near-death imprisonment is still sinking in. Dan's health is in an uncertain state. But even if Dan's freedom wasn't contingent on a demon hunt, our chances of catching the demon would be pretty slim without him.
Chevron says to cousin Dan, "Indeed. If we charge headfirst at the demon, it will be like we are walking barefoot into a room blindfolded, which may be covered with spikes. And Fristad's life would not be spared. But we are not going to fight the demon in that way. We will study the demon from afar, as one does when fighting any sort of powerful mage. And only after we have understood it will we attempt to defeat it," Chevron nods with approval toward Dan, "and with your intuition for the minds of many beings, I have no doubt we will succeed."
Dan's brows furrow. "This demon is running away from us. It doesn't want to be followed. If we chase it, it will most certainly respond with agression."
"Precisely. I'd like to avoid that as long as possible," Chevron says. "Avoid direct contact, and approach discreetly when needed."
Dan smiles knowingly, "Such an effort will require a large set of skills. How many of your trusted Arch-Mage friends will join us?"
"Did I say they were Arch-Magi? I may have fibbed a bit to get you out of that cell. Why don't we talk somewhere more private? We wouldn't want to attract prying ears..."
We scout out a narrow alleyway and continue our conversation there.
"So they aren't Arch-Magi?" Dan inquires. "Now I'm curious! Because no ordinary miners or magi would be up to this task. And given my void magic, the city guard is out of the question. You wouldn't happen to have a secret life of crime like I do, perhaps?"
Chevron grins. "Strictly publicly speaking... I am but a law-abiding Arch Mage with ties to the city's Mage Guild. Crime, subterfuge, and dark magic are not on my resume."
"Oh, that's right, I forgot! What a shame," Dan smiles knowingly. "I don't suppose you know some high-ranking necromancer in the city, then? Preferably one with a specialization in souls."
"I do, actually," Chevron grins smugly. "Not with a specialization in souls though, I'm afraid."
"Ah yes, what a shame..." Dan laments. "Wait, come again? You know a necromancer?"
"Yes, I've known the Overseer of Bluesteel for many years. He's quite the character."
"'Quite the character?'" I echo. "Now THAT's a euphemism if I've heard one. I'd thought that you, an Arch-Mage of Fire, bound by honor, widely renown in the city, and admired by my former human self, would have better tact, and surely better moral options."
Chevron and Dan look at each other knowingly, then burst out laughing.
Chevron takes a deep breath. "Indeed, we have been dealt an unfortunate fate, which requires the expertise of a servant of Herobrine, of all people! If only there were mages of Void in the city guard! Ah, an old woman can dream."
"Okay, why were BOTH of you laughing? Have you two been keeping Chevron's relationship with a necromancer a secret from me this whole time?" I ask.
Dan smiles mysteriously. "The best-kept secret is a secret that you don't know."
"So... you guessed?"
Dan's arm swipes across my face. Before I can process the danger, he's torn off my goggles and is staring straight into my eyes.
"No, Jonas. I simply asked a question."
I frown indignantly. "I could have killed you!"
Dan hands me my goggles back.
"Huh. I guess you could have. My apologies."
I re-equip the goggles. At this point I'm not sure if Dan has gone crazy or is just showing off. Maybe I'm not as Ender as I thought I was, but even so... I'm not taking chances.
"Let's go find the necromancer," Chevron declares. "He has a hideaway in the Sprigs, which is not far from here."
------------
I still can't believe that my grandmother knows a necromancer. Given my past misdeeds in the Red Aether, I am not exactly welcome there, and I've seen firsthand the terrible things they do. Nevertheless, we are proceeding with the plan. Given our circumstances, recruiting Chevron's alleged necromancer friend is our best shot for saving Fristad. I just hope my new halfblood appearance is enough to absolve me of suspicion.
I teleport us to a market where Chevron buys Dan some more well-fitting clothes. He is indecisive, but eventually chooses some grey pants and a buttoned white shirt, similar to his old outfit although not as high quality. Chevron makes the purchase, and Dan then gets himself dressed in a loo. As he emerges, we see that his new outfit fits him much better, although the sleeves are a bit short. Wearing smaller clothes and being deprived of his grey mage's cloak seems to have hurt his confidence a bit.
Chevron then buys materials for an iron sword and a sheath, and gives them to Dan.
Dan frowns. "Only a few iron?"
"Sorry, Vrendan, I know you prefer diamond. I was in a rush to pack, and as such I'm a bit light on credits at the moment," Chevron admits. "We can equip ourselves better later, with armor as well."
Dan crafts himself a new iron sword. He gives it a few swings and nods with approval. He then crafts a sheath which fits his new sword, fastens it to his waist, and slides his new sword halfway into its sheath. He then presses his hand against his hilt, muttering one of the Imbuement spells. When his spell ends, a faint orange glint hovers over his sword handle, evidence of fire magic, enhancing the sword with a temporary enchantment.
Dan's grin grows. "I must say, it is good to have a sword again."
Nervously, I recall that I left Sunshine and the hogs behind when I left Cubit's apartment, and our supplies and money are in those bags. I set this guilt aside, to avoid delaying our trip any further. They're as good as gone at this point.
Chevron then guides us toward the secret hideout of the necromancer.
------------
We soon enter the Sprigs, the neighborhood in which Chevron's necromancer friend allegedly lives.
It is not an area I know too well, and I find it surprisingly charming. Thick moss lays upon the old stone brick roads. Unkempt senior oak trees and thick bushes loiter in the alleys of the narrow apartment lots and mildly trespass onto the streets. The roads are on the quiet side, just occupied by the occasional lone pedestrian, keeping their head low or straight ahead. On a roof, a kid and a teenager spar with wooden swords, a nostalgic sight that takes me many years back. I remember when I used to teach Fristad how to sword fight in sparring matches like that. Fristad was like my godson to me back then. He was very different as a kid. Restless, never stopped talking, a troublemaker out of boredom rather than boldness.
I pull myself out of my reminiscence.
"How much further until we meet him?" I ask Chevron.
"Go to this tunnel up ahead."
I teleport us to the entrance of a tunnel, and we walk inside. The world on the other side of my goggles becomes dark. Torches are few and far between. Chevron and Dan unsheath their glimmering swords.
"This way," says Chevron, turning left toward a stone wall.
Chevron puts her fingers on the wall, and whispers in the traditional dialect, "Daggers and malice out, friends in."
Chevron's voice faintly echoes with power. Falling dust hisses as a portion of the wall carves into the shape of a stone door. Chevron pulls the stone handle outward. The door creaks as if it is made of wood.
Our grandmother Chevron enters and beckons us inside.
The room is sparsely lit. Along the walls of the room are shelves with boxes and sealed barrels, covered with dust.
Chevron turns around and waves her hand, and the stone door closes and morphs back into the wall, trapping us inside.
"Don't be deceived by the appearance of this room," warns Chevron. "The entrance is here, just not in this physical space."
"I had a feeling it was too easy to get here," says Dan.
"Kara?" Chevron says. "Are you here?"
After a moment, a male voice speaks out. "Kara is no longer here."
"Who are you?" asks Chevron. "What happened to Kara?"
Chevron and the voice exchange a few questions. The voice's responses are evasive, and don't reveal much. But Kara was most likely turned into a zombie as a form of punishment. Zombies face an agonizing and unfulfilling existence that lasts for eternity. The servants of Herobrine know this best of all. That's one thing that makes them especially cruel.
Then, a man walks out of nothingness and stands in front of Chevron. His clothes are, surprisingly, quite reasonable. Business casual, actually. I was expecting something more fierce or monastic.
"The outer ward is activated. You can speak freely now," says the man.
"I am Arch Mage Chevron Ti'Drannes." She points toward Dan. "This is my grandson and apprentice, Mage Vrendan Ti'Drannes." She points toward me. "And this is my assistant, Marth."
I nod agreeably and give a shallow bow, trying my best to absorb the new temporary identity. I'm now Marth, Arch-Mage Ti'Drannes' loyal assistant. Relationship strictly professional. Got it.
"I don't trust creatures with purple eyes," remarks the man.
"Don't worry, I will make sure he's well-behaved." says Chevron. "We are here to see the Overseer, Whiteriver. We have important business to discuss."
"Few outsiders know the Bluesteel Overseer's name and live," the man says. "Evidently, you are no stranger to the servants of Herobrine. But I would advise against bringing others with you, especially not Ender. I can bring you to him. But I guarantee nothing."
"I would expect nothing more," Chevron says. "Please proceed."
------------
The Herobrinian assistant in business casual clothing walks away and fades into red mist, and returns with three metal rods. He hands one to each of us. The length of my rod fits just within my palm.
"Hold on tight to these," says the man, "or you will die."
The rod within my hand begins to glow red and shake, and my entire body is suddenly rippling along with it. I can feel it compressing my bones. This isn't the sort of teleportation trick you want to teach to your grandkids.
The first thing I notice on the other side is the incredibly overpowering smell of coal soot and rotten flesh. It is a hard smell to forget. This is the Red Aether, the dimension of ever-present red smog, the land of the dead, the place I had tried so hard to escape in a desperate attempt to preserve my memories. Even worse, we are in the heart of an "administrative building," where necromancers and the undead of the Aether Guard roam in abundance. There are few places more unfitting for a soul criminal like me to be. Here's to hoping my new halfblood form hides my name. There's no point in praying here, since the other gods will not hear me.
Beneath our feet, a fifteen meter, circular rune is engraved into the stone floor. A rune of this size is designed to teleport a hundred undead at once. No wonder it was so hard on my body! I still feel like my elbows are dislocated. That will hurt tomorrow.
I observe Dan, worried of his age. He seems unphased by the dimensional jerk, but the true toll on his body is impossible to guess.
I look around. This whole building is massive. We are in a hall intersection with tall ceilings, red curtains, and stone columns. Skeletons with glowing red light in their eye sockets, a hallmark of the Aether Guard, run busily past us in all directions. Many carry scrolls. Others guard the walls, wielding bows. One red-eyed skeleton is sweeping the floor.
Most skeletons live a carefree life of carnage and evilness, free of the serious responsibilities of high-ranking necromancers, but also free from the eternal suffering of zombies. The Aether Guard is an exception. Their work never ends.
As we pass through the hall, many of the red eyes of the Aether Guard scrutinize me. It appears the Red Aether is not a place where endermen are welcome. That is not reassuring, and doesn't help my worries that someone in this place will find a reason to incriminate me. I resolve to stay quiet when possible, and keep my head low.
The man who led us here leads us to a door guarded by a dozen or so Aether Guard skeletons.
"I am bringing these three to see the Overseer," the man says to the skeleton guards.
The skeleton guards make room.
"I don't know how familiar the other two of you are with necromancers," says the man, "but here's some sincere advice: Keep your moral righteousness and humanistic philosophies - or Ender philosophies - to yourselves. Also, my name is Erin. I am a Level 3 and my assignment to this post is temporary."
The man opens the door for us, then leaves.
------------
High-level necromancers all have a different look to them, but there is an unmistakable aesthetic to them. Usually some unconventional armor, with some combination of a crazed wild look and/or antisocial demeanor. All the better to commit acts of unspeakable evil. Unlike the man who brought us here, who was dressed in acceptable business casual clothes, the Overseer of Bluesteel is in line with the common, more unpleasant trend.
He's more on the discheveled side: messy black hair, dark eyes, and an angular face, complemented with unusual yellow-tinted iron armor, possibly for shapeshifting. He sits with his elbow on a desk, holding a glowing redstone sphere in his hand. His posture conveys effectively that we should know better than to mess with him.
The man then spots us, and sets the sphere down onto his desk. His eyes fall upon me and narrow in suspicion, and I wonder with fear if he recognizes me somehow. Then, as if bored with me, his face turns toward Dan, and his expression morphs into contempt.
His eyes then focus upon Chevron, his expression cynical.
"Why are you here?"
Chevron says, "Overseer Whiteriver, a powerful void mage demon is on the loose in Bluesteel, and a dear friend of ours, Fristad, is under the demon's direct control. I request your assistance to help us hunt down the demon and save Fristad."
"Hunting down demons in my jurisdiction is certainly my business, but ensuring the preservation of human life complicates matters and breaks protocol." He sighs, exasperated, as if wondering why we bothered coming here. But then, he acknowledges without emotion, "How powerful is this demon? Where did it come from?"
Chevron gestures toward Dan. "My grandson, Vrendan, is an expert on sentient beings of all kinds. He will tell you."
There is on one hand a brief flash of nervousness in Dan's face, but he then collects his expertise. "The situation is concerning, to say the least. This demon was able to manipulate and influence Fristad for long periods of time. This may be a case of standard soul possession, but since the demon is also a void mage, we suspect they have used an incredibly powerful void spell instead. What is also concerning is that the demon has most likely switched to another vessel. If the vessel was undamaged when this happened, then this demon has a powerful soul. I'm not sure exactly how powerful."
"Fristad did hit it with an axe," I add. That was after Fristad turned on me, and tried to drive an arrow into my neck. The hatred I saw in his eyes still haunts me.
"That's a good point," says Dan.
Whiteriver postulates, "I assume this ender halfblood is with you due to its immunity to the void. Do you have the original vessel?"
"I have it." I supply the book to Whiteriver from my back pocket.
Whiteriver inspects the book. He frowns with disgust. "This is not a demon's vessel and it never was one. This is a blank book. You might as well throw it away."
Whiteriver returns the book to me. I stare at the book with fear. Did I misplace the book?
"I'm pretty sure that's the original vessel," Dan counters, "Hand that book to me and I'll show the Overseer why," says Dan.
I give Dan the book. Dan holds the book up, and conjures purple flames around the book. He smiles with satisfaction.
"Fascinating, isn't it? No mundane book is known to be immune to voidfire in this way."
Whiteriver sighs with annoyance. "Then it is Elor technology. And there is nothing "fascinating" about it. All of human technology exists to consume and deface Notch's gift of creation. How it traveled this far eastward is a problem for the WOC. Enfocement of human laws is of no concern to me."
"I was not aware the WOC had an enforcement department," Dan remarks, mirroring my unease. Indeed, an institution bent on suppressing technology from somewhere far west seems dystopian.
"It doesn't matter. Anyways, since I cannot sense a soul within this vessel, I have no way to know how powerful this demon is. I will have to drag other servants of Herobrine away from their very important work and into this wild goose chase, as a precaution. But first of all, let's discuss the terms."
"Yes, and you know how this goes," Chevron remarks. "Don't insult me. My soul is not for sale, and you still owe a debt to me. And I don't want you or your henchmen killing any civilians either."
"What you are asking is completely unreasonable. It doesn't just break protocol; it insults it! If the demon is as powerful as you say, we need all of the forces at our disposal to neutralize it. Such a weakling pacifist mission leaves me few options in terms of manpower, and is almost certainly doomed to fail. My soul will be on the line because of it. I will need you to pay in kind."
"Do you doubt your own abilities so? That you are concerned of receiving that kind of punishment?" Chevron challenges.
"I do not doubt them. I only quantify them."
"Then perhaps you can quantify this dragon scale." Chevron reaches inside her red robe and pulls out a pearlescent, black dragon scale the size of her palm, attached to a necklace. Dan has one just like it, which Chevron gave to him after my death. "It is a spoil of my ancestry, a powerful artifact. And it is the only one I own. Should we fail to capture the demon, it will be yours."
Whiteriver's face doesn't move much, but Chevron is grinning smugly, as if she knows how to play this game. Her ancestor's dragon scale is one of the most valuable things she owns. It is a hefty wager.
Whiteriver says, "I assume you do not intend to part with that dragon scale if the effort is successful. What will be my compensation then?"
Chevron calculates her offer. "I still know a number of dishonorable miners, magi, and businessfolk in the city, for whom societal norms compel me to ignore, but whose fates I may be willing to influence. If Fristad is returned to us safely, I may tell you one of their names."
Whiteriver says, "I want four unconditionally, and I want my debt eliminated. Another four if Fristad is saved."
"That can be arranged."
Writeriver walks around us, knocks on the doorframe, and yells loudly, "SCRIBE!"
The scribe, an Aether Guard, rushes into the room. Whiteriver dictates the contract to the scribe with droning precision. The scribe crouches on the floor, swiftly and precisely writing letters of blood.
Chevron then reads the finished scroll. She frowns, and sighs longingly. "I didn't imagine giving it away in that sense, but I suppose it makes sense. But it is a hard bargain indeed."
Chevron turns to Dan.
"Grandson, under this contract, if we fail to capture the demon, I do not just give away my dragon scale, but everything it represents. I can no longer tell the stories of our ancestry, or teach anyone about void magic. All those rights are transferred to Whiteriver."
Dan swivels his head toward Whiteriver and he sizes him up. He smirks with contempt. "How thrifty! But it's never gonna happen. Because I'm the most knowledgeable mage on souls there is in the region, and a bunch of necromancers are about to help us. Sign away!"
Whiteriver hands Chevron the pen. I watch in dread as Chevron signs at the bottom of the scroll. Whiteriver then presents an iron dagger to Chevron. She cuts her palm, and squeezes it. Her blood drips onto the paper. She doesn't even flinch.
Chevron then returns the pen and dagger to Whiteriver, who signs the scroll.
"So it is written," Whiteriver declares, and throws the pen and dagger upon the desk.
The scribe gingerly takes the scroll and pen from the desk, and departs. There is a sense of permanence to watching that blood-bound scroll contract leave the room.
My grandmother has wagered her ancestry, and sealed the fate of several city dwellers whose morality is unknown to me. It is yet more guilt that I must live with.
In spite of his confident grin, Dan's eyes likewise seem affixed upon the doorframe through which the scroll has fled. I can't imagine what's going through his head right now.
In spite of the harsh scorn Chevron gave Dan in her Sparrow's Bay lecture hall in the after hours, and in spite of his rebellious nature, Dan has always been the most faithful grandson, and yearns to preserve her legacy. The idea of losing a part of that must weigh heavily on him.
Table of Contents