*****
Steffor awoke to the blended scent of piney resin permeating from the walls of his room and triffle root tea that emanated from somewhere down the hall. He filled the basin next to his bed with warm water and washed with the accompanied dulsa leaf, exfoliating a layer of grime from the day prior. The first light of dawn crept over the terrace as he reformed his garments and headed out the doorway.
He did not pass nor hear another soul during his travels across the complex of halls and steps. He found this odd, considering the training facility normally teemed with activity by this point. Then, ashamed by his negligence, caught up in his own world, he remembered the Forging Ceremony was today. Most everyone must have left hours ago, completing any demanding tasks before arriving for the ceremony.
The realization pushed aside his concerns about Calivera, replacing them with a more contemplative and pressing issue. How did he plan to participate in the ceremony as one of the chosen without connecting to the Mysticnet or wielding the Source?
He was no closer to answering the question when he entered the town-side entrance hall fifteen minutes later. Steffor made his way over to the long breakfast counter located on the north wall and poured a mug of hot tea. As he turned back around, his sight followed the high-arching curved wall to the triangular skylights shifted into the domed ceiling. The artful display of windows framed a blended sky of cranberry and gray. Grabbing a warm scone, he crossed the long gathering room, weaving through the comfortable furniture occupying the open space. Past the archway entrance,
Steffor entered the large veranda, moved to a remote corner to his left and leaned elbows over the ornate railing.
He sipped his tea, relishing the stimulating buzz, and watched the sunrise from the southeast. A clear day, the panoramic vista was breath taking. The tiered town below basked in golden light and the Forging River, formed at the base of the mountain, sparkled like a jeweled necklace. The river flowed down the sloping bough, cresting the forked end to fall and form anew upon Teuton Valley. Sight of the sacred land miles away with the Forging Tree square in its midst was a stark reminder of his quandary.
"Ninety two seasons I have called this place home and the novelty of that sunrise has yet to wane."
Steffor turned toward the archway opening, delighted to see Kilton advancing in his direction.
"I have missed you Steffor."
"As I have you, Master Kilton."
Right hands clasped, forearms crossed and each matched the other's strong press. A minute later, Kilton stepped back and searched Steffor's tear swelled eyes, probing his aching heart with tender care.
"The House is clear, we are all that remain. Would you be so kind as to assist an old man and accompany me to the ceremony," Kilton said, leaning dramatically on his staff.
"It would be my honor." Steffor replied with a smile, measuring his elder with a skilled eye. Two hundred and twelve seasons old, gray temples, distinguished creases along an otherwise soft face the only physical traits revealing his age. That and a Guardian Tail looped thrice around, reaching the small of his back.
Gifted with immense physical strength like all Guardians, Kilton's stature was small for the warrior race. Still, Steffor managed to feel dwarfed by the man’s presence. The experience had little relation to Kilton's extensive acts of heroism or recorded victories in the games. No, it was Kilton's consistent ability to treat all creatures with love that kept the young Guardian in awe of his master. Kilton advanced every soul he encountered, a living example of how to live the Certain Way.
In short order, they reached the lower avenues of town, where waterfall and mountainside transitioned into a narrow river with choppy rapids and ridged bark. Citizens from all over the region lined the streets to bid them farewell. Kilton’s appearance always drew a crowd. Accompanied by the popular and now mysterious Steffor, added to the excitement. Top it off with the pending Teuton Staff Forging ceremony, it was a joyous event indeed, one none dare miss.
As they traveled together to Teuton Valley, to the rare event of anointing the next Teuton, made the trek. Steffor, enthusiastic as he waved and shook out stretched hands, searched the crowd hoping to catch a glimpse of Calivera. He found no sign of her amongst the sea of faces.
"You locate the one you sought?" Kilton asked once they cleared the town, having traveled about a mile south past the fork he and Calivera last parted.
"No."
"Was it the lovely Healer I have heard so much about, the one responsible for bringing you back to us?"
"Yes. Her name is Calivera. Do you think she was lovely?"
"Aye, from the Mysticnet images I saw, she was very beautiful. But after a long life full of intimate submersions within a healers table, I am afraid I lost my ability to be an objective judge. At least when it comes to the physical beauty of Healers," he said with a knowing wink. "But if your Calivera is the same tall blonde who arrived in town last evening, she is lovelier than most. She caused quite a stir amongst the young Shifters and Guardians around town before departing before dawn."
"Yes, that would be the same Healer," Steffor said, pondering Kilton's comments. "While not to your frequency, I too have been under the post treatment spell of a Healer. The feelings I have for Calivera are different...they go beyond."
"Considering she rescued your soul from a foreign abyss, I'd say so."
"How did you know of our experience? I mean, I understand little outside of what she told me and of course, the lingering feeling of our connection."
"Little passes the detection of The Four."
Steffor let Kilton’s comment drift in the open as he pondered his own questions about The Four. Comprised of four Masters from each race, the present Four had a combined life experience of over eight hundred seasons. Wisdom aside, The Four were privy to information and experiences not revealed to the whole.
Until recently, Steffor had never concerned himself with what the knowledge restricted to the ancient covey. Like all Citizens, he had found comfort in knowing The Four shouldered life's bigger burdens for the betterment of the whole. Now, the concept of The Four soured his thoughts. They symbolized the tip of an overarching issue that had broken the surface well before his recent experience with the dive.
"My recent connection with Calivera has altered my perception of the Provider, of my beliefs," Steffor confided.
"It would be hard to imagine it not. The Deeds have never recorded a soul resurrected into the same body."
"The world I knew before no longer exists and I now question all that has taken its place. Why did the Provider decide I must die only to return with such confusion? What purpose does it serve? It was all a mistake, I should have never returned."
"Why does fear always find a way to manifest in our lives?" Kilton's rhetorical question irked Steffor. He needed concrete answers.
"If my current existence is the manifestation of my deepest fears, then I have yet to be completely honest with myself. Unfortunately, I am far from connecting all the pieces and time is running short."
"There is only one Time. One Space. One Source. The Provider is in no hurry, it’s only mission is to grow. And it grows with patience."
"In concept, that creed still applies. But the Forging Ceremony is close at hand and if I am to take my rightful place, I must join the other chosen by the end of our short journey. In that, there is no question."
"But you must join our ancient ritual for reasons outside a sense of duty. In order for a new Teuton to be chosen, the mind and soul must be clear of doubt. For that to occur, you must remain patient and leave the results to the Provider."
Steffor nodded in frustrated agreement, feeling anything but patient.
"Tell me Steffor, what do you believe?"
"My belief in reincarnation has not wavered," Steffor replied. His recent union with Calivera validated of the statement. Like the bark beneath his feet, his bond to Calivera was undeniable, something that could only be explained by a preexistence spannin
g countless prior lives.
"Good. A Citizen can take great solace in knowing that each incarnation is important, no matter how difficult or seemingly insignificant. It is what enables us to take on any challenge. Trusting in our reincarnations moves us closer to the Provider. Each life is one step closer toward our soul joining in the conscious participation of divinity."
Steffor struggled to link his recent experiences to that belief. "I find great purpose in being a Citizen, in being a Guardian in this life." As he heard himself speak, the foundation of his refined beliefs in the Provider settled heavier onto his heart. But it was now a narrowcast belief, filtrated into laws of the purest blacks and brightest whites. He found strength of spirit in the emerging, unalterable truth: The Provider exists and to it alone, I owe all allegiance.
"Good. Embracing the race bestowed in this lifetime allows a Citizen to-"
"But I am no longer beholden to either," Steffor interjected. A dissonance stirred in his heart. It rekindled a sense of urgency to address the evolution of all Citizens, a tugging undercurrent that had mounted since his recent rebirth. He looked to his mentor and found solace in the contentment reflected upon the pleasant face. With an esoteric glint in his eye, Kilton waited for what Steffor had to say next.
"The Deeds tell us: transcendence is not a destination, but a new branch to explore in the eternal tree of the Provider. These objectives are fulfilled by the law of reincarnation, are they not?"
Kilton nodded in agreement.
"Why then stratify the Provider's people into four distinct races? Why limit a Citizen's ability to wield the Source? In doing so, do we not limit the scope of experience and growth in each lifetime?"
"The emergence of the races saved Citizens from certain extinction. The races saved our people from a time of chaos, transitioned us to the era of peace and harmony we experience today. The rise of the races spawned the Deeds, providing us the means to reach transcendence. How can you question the races?" Kilton asked with pure intrigue.
"I have not forgotten our origins Master Kilton. Nor do I mean any disrespect with my line of questions. Simply, I no longer comprehend the need for the races." Steffor's new spiritual filter had not just altered his view of the Forging Ceremony, it made him question the very need for the four races.
"Why indeed," Kilton said. He said no more, nibbling on his lower lip, the rhythmic clack of his staff on bark with every other stride the only sound to follow. Having witnessed the countenance on Kilton's face many times before, Steffor knew the wiser man wrestled with a new, or most likely revised, revelation.
Content to let Kilton ruminate on the topic, another hour passed in silence as they continued down the bough. As they descended, the sun rose above the Toliver region. Beaming through the openings shifted along vibrant canopy of pine needles, life-giving rays spotlighted the lake, town and river in vivid light. Cliff walls that contained the river near Lake Arol now tapered off into a wide shoreline of sloped ledges and steps.
As the river continued down the bough in this fashion, it sliced through a sprawling fungi forest. Draped in perpetual shadow, the forest spanned bark on both sides of the river in every direction. Walking along the shoreline with the river to their left and giant mushrooms on the right, an ever-present cool breeze wafted a mixed odor of fertile soil, ripe fruit and fish.
The distinct smell flooded Steffor’s mind with memories of the not so distant past. Full of some of the Provider's nastiest predators and inherent death traps, surviving in the forest taught him many lessons, what it meant to rely on others. With a new paradigm, he discovered a new appreciation for the rich history associated with the ancient pass.
Many discoveries were made in the century that followed the Razum Massacre. At that time, man stayed on the run, always trying to stay ahead of their relentless foe. The ancient fungi forest provided the Provider's forlorn people their first real opportunity to settle down and rebuild. The brief reprieve enabled the first harvest Shifters to emerge. As a result, man learned to shift the pathogenic organisms into vital sources of food, medicine, shelter and biological weapons.
The dense, fungi infested, bark peninsulas came to an abrupt halt as the canopy above ended, exposing the narrowing bough to the unhindered mid-morning sun. A half-mile past this stark demarcation, they reached the apex of the river and the bough's only significant bend.
The extreme drop in elevation amplified the river's acceleration, rushing it toward the bough's forked end. A massive network of capillary stems fused the two branches that spliced east and west from the bough’s end to form the U-shaped Teuton Valley. From their elevated vantage, the unique expanse of soil and lush grassland floated in the open sky as if held aloft by two cupped hands.
By noon, they reached the valley's steep north wall, where the river crested the forked crook and shot outward in a powerful chute. Steffor followed the waterfall's wild descent as it smashed into the inclined wooden wall. Glassy sheets of water fanned along the smooth surface before it collected into a tall plunge pool formed at the base of the valley floor.
He allowed his mind to drift, swimming to the bottom of the dark plunge pool before pouring over the curved lip to form anew. Smaller waterfalls cascaded down the branches forming the valley's east and west walls. The descending water fed into small estuaries and streams that in turn, fed the river as it continued down the valley.
Steffor followed the swelling river as it flowed away from the sheer branch-walls near the falls, through hills and dells populated with fern and lichen groves. He continued past the ever-present Forging Tree centered midway down the valley. Once past the colossal tree, the valley flattened into a field of wild flowers and grass that spanned for miles on both sides of the narrow river. The valley widened and as cliff walls diminished into small ridges, no taller than a man. A thin precipice of interwoven stem edged the valley’s end from which the river crested one final time.
Their brief rest next to the falls concluded, Kilton led them down the southern branch-ridge. A quarter mile later, they turned down a roadway shifted down the branch-side. The road weaved down the side of the branch to form dozens of narrow streets. Homes lined both sides of the streets, shifted deep into the branch. Decorative facades, archways, lattices and windows, pleached from plentiful stems, twigs and hearty evergreen leaves gave a personal touch to each home. Children of varying ages littered the streets, the younger played while the older supervised. The adults were off harvesting the tarroc vines indigenous to the region.
Once on the valley floor, Kilton walked parallel to the wall for a few yards, parting thickets of bushes and grass with his staff. He stopped before a hollow that formed between soil and the convex wall. Steffor followed Kilton down the semi-open hole and sat down next to him with back leaning against the cool earthen rampart. They sat quiet for several minutes, collecting their thoughts within the peaceful setting.
"The night after your rebirth," Kilton said few moments later, "the Provider came to me in my dreams, as it so often does. The vision disclosed secrets of a Universe beyond my comprehension, exposing fears buried deep in my heart. That fear has infected my thoughts since, hindering my ability to focus on anything else. Now, as I bask in your presence, my faith is restored."
"You honor me but-"
"There is a log in the Mysticnet," Kilton interrupted, "accessible only to The Four, pertinent to your concerns about the races. Given the circumstances of recent events, I wish to share it with you if willing."
"My trust in your wisdom has never wavered but I cannot, for I have lost the ability to sync with the whole."
"Your current dysfunction is not an issue; through the use of my staff I can show you. Do you wish to see?"
"Yes."
"Know this Steffor; the decision to share this piece of history is made on instinct alone. That be as it may, it is far from clear to me as what may come of it. Do you understand?"
"Yes. I understand."
"Good. Stand with me." St
effor stood up, the curved ceiling less than an inch from his head, and faced the earthen wall. Kilton drove the end of his staff into the ground then closed his eyes. He connected Tillamund: Kilton's Mystic equivalent, one of The Four, keeper of the Mysticnet and Master of the Forging Tree. A moment later, a silver beam shot from the knotted end of Kilton's staff, toward the wall a few feet away.
Animated images with grainy edges appeared on the wall, showing an aerial view of the Razum Buttress. The two dimensional projection was a far cry from syncing to the Mysticnet where all the senses are sated with vivid detail, reliving the past experiences of any Citizen as if it were their own.
"A direct link to the Mysticnet would convey the same images," Kilton explained as if reading his thoughts.
"Why?"
"The scenes that follow display the key events that took place during the Razum Massacre, centuries before the first Mystic was to evolve."
"Are you telling me we have had Mysticnet logs of the event all along?"
"While lost to the Mysticnet as we know it, we are connected to the past consciousness of all souls. Tillamund is the first and only Mystic known to the Provider capable of retrieving those faded memories, faint echoes of the few that survived the incident. He compiled those images to create an accurate depiction of the historic event."
"I see," Steffor replied, wondering what other treasures The Four had excavated from the ancient past, undisclosed to the present whole.
"I will recite the legend as you watch if you wish."
"Yes, please do," Steffor said, sensing the answers to his question captured in the space between legend and actual events.
"Prior to the races, we were a simple society, living a hunter-gatherer subsistence on the Provider’s largest limb. Scattered clans for several generations, survival in numbers aggregated our people into one large tribe."
As Kilton narrated, the opening scene panned down to encompass the first Razum settlement. Giant fractals, chaotic and unaltered, spiked the fat limb, the large spaces in-between covered by moss, flower and forests of tall shrub, bush and vine. The settlement consisted of simple but efficient huts, storage houses, town centers and markets constructed from leaves, twigs, hides and other natural and available resources. Built at the cliff base of Razum’s lowest mesa, their backs were secure and defendable within the cliff's shadow. Multiple streams, originating from the Trunk's run-off down the tiered mesas, interlaced the settlement. The abundant conditions provided plenty of fresh water to support human, plant and other animal life alike.
"As we live with today, the threat of predators were constant. But the mild temperatures, abundant game and edible plants made the location ideal for growth. Soon the settlement stretched for miles across the lush buttress and our numbers grew in accordance to the Provider. Life for us during this prehistoric age was a peaceful one, if not mundane. The arrival of the Deagrons forever ended this tranquil existence."
Kilton's diction soothed Steffor, lost to the steady pace as he watched the moving pictures display the generations of fruitful growth.
"To this day, the word Deagron promotes fear within all of us. Legends of our forefathers tell the Deagrons arrived from the heavens, passengers aboard a blazing white comet." The scene changed, showing the comet flying through the cosmos. It passed countless stars and planets before approaching a small star encircled by six orbital rings. Each ring consisted mostly of ice, rocky debris and dust.
The shot then moved in to ride just above the comet as it raced toward a small planet located within the third ring. The meteor is last seen rushing toward a green forest, before crashing with an awesome white explosion.
"A century would pass after the comet sighting, before our first and fatal encounter with the Deagrons." The images reverted to the Razum Settlement, now bustling with activity and expanding farther down the limb.
"At that time, our ability to travel vertically was limited to simple ropes and ladders. Due to the inherent dangers associated with traveling outside the settlement, the vast majority of the limb remained unexplored. Of the rare excursions that did occur, they were to the edges of the buttress, miles from the protective confines of the settlement. As it is today, Danilkara's thick network of leafy branches prevented viewing much past a half mile below while reduced above by Sofelarus's long canopy. Our understanding of the Provider consisted of the settlement and the large swaths of the heavens displayed within the open horizon.”
"Mystic scholars agree, prior to the Deagrons arrival, the Source once flowed within Provider's earth. A stark contrast to the desolated grassland it is today." Images faded from Razum, replaced by lesser quality, more animated images. The scene depicted an oval continent from which the Provider grew. Edged as it was today by a root-mountain range, forests covered the land, teeming with a huge variety of tree species and plant and animal life.
"It is not known how many Deagrons were first to arrive on the comet. Regardless, as evidenced in the chaotic and rapid decimation of the land, they were quick to flourish. Minimal knowledge of the Deagrons remains but all research indicates they existed to feed. The Deagrons fed on anything that pulsated with the Source. Bark, leaf, branch, bough or creatures, all fell victim to the Deagrons insatiable hunger. But humans, to our discovered horror, became their preference."
"After a century of unchecked gorging, their numbers swelled out of control. Their immediate food source depleted, they soon after embarked upon their inevitable migration up the Provider's Trunk." The animation sped up to show a century of decimation over a few seconds. Then the Deagrons, seen as indistinguishable specks, swarmed over the land and began their ascent up the Trunk.
“They devoured all life in their path, leaving nothing but dilapidated sapwood in their wake as they progressed toward the Razum Buttress. For weeks, deafening clacks and buzzes filled the air as the Deagrons approached the settlement.” Closer, more vivid images of the settlement reappeared as the hoard of alien creatures closed in from all sides.
"The powerful sound, while not as concentrated as the zapture clap but as debilitating in its volume and frequency, was not the first act of violence to hit the settlement. It was the stench. A nauseating wave of putrefaction clung to everything, causing the eyes to tear in pain and infiltrate all taste and smell. A few days after hearing the first sounds, waves of the hulking creatures converged on the outskirts of Razum."
Kilton's voice hitched with emotion as he struggled to go on. Steffor was awash with emotion, seized by familiar uncertainty whenever he heard the story recited. The disturbing graphics accentuated his empathy.
How would I have measured up under those hopeless conditions? Would I have made a difference? Would my sacrifice have saved enough? Any?
Despite feeling like a hypocrite, he was grateful and proud in that moment to be a Guardian. Gripped by the visceral presage, he sensed the answers he sought were close.
Kilton picked back up his narration, his voice sapped of energy but determined to finish. "Our simple structures and primitive weapons provided us no defense against the Deagrons." Scenes to unfold next showed several brave but pathetic attempts to ward off the advancing beasts. Thick hides deflected arrows and spears with the ease of a giaker trapping a lost child in the jungle. Serrated mandibles and clawed, rangy limbs mowed down the defenders, lashing and snapping with vicious speed and lethal strength.
The ensuing assault was as slow as it was relentless. Many tried to flee but the throng of Deagrons was too dense by that point. Herded toward the high cliff wall, enclosed by razor edged and barbed appendages, the hideous pen captured tens of thousands.
"Amplified by their numbers and proximity, the vile stench and hypersonic clacks soon became a potent concoction. Their relentless advance rendered those closest into convulsive mounds of flesh, wishing for a quick death. And, while it was not quick, death came."
With systematic efficiency, the Deagrons gorged on the comatose fallen. At their leisure, serpentine limbs, housed
by black, oil burnished exoskeletons, probed the tangled mass of bodies. The dexterous limbs wrapped around an ankle or wrist with vise-like grip. They would then dangle the twitching bodies in front of jagged maw as protruding barbs, hooks and serrated edges fed on flesh and bone. After each feeding, narrow eye slits glowed purple and grotesque bodies shuddered with pleasure.
"Man was a delicacy the Deagrons appeared to savor with every bite. As the weeks passed, the plight of those on the edges soon became enviable to those packed in the center. Indeed, many of us, laying witness to the slaughter of all they loved too much to bare, chose a spastic coma over painful consciousness."
"According to the Deeds, both time and survival dictate the evolution of man. A few sages existed at the time, grasping the fundamentals of how to live the Certain Way but command of the Source was raw and adolescent. Man shifted the Source out of reaction, not by premeditated design. No one is certain of the exact formula of experiences that triggered the change in Toliver, though, to this date, none have grown tired of debating the subject. But most agree, if he had not, we would not be here today."
The perspective changed to focus on the shrinking perimeter, on a young man standing amongst the convulsed, many of whom must have been his family and closest friends. Eyes shut, face devoid of emotion, a dozen Deagrons within, Toliver stood strong and erect. His arms at his side with feet planted, he confronted his foe with stoic resolve.
At first, no one around Toliver appeared to notice that he showed no ill effects from the repellent sounds or lethal stench. For the majority were resolved to their fate, having grown numb to the surrounding violence. They shut down and ignored the basic receptors tuned to human observation. It was not until those next in line for slaughter that people registered how appendages flinched back in pain when in proximity to Toliver.
Out of instinct, on the verge of falling victim to the Deagrons repellent aura, Armotto, the man standing a few yards behind Toliver, gathered his wife and children and moved to stand next to the rigid youth. As if entering an oasis, the space around Toliver repelled the burst-pulsed clicks and debilitating fetor. Instead, Armotto reported the sensation of fresh air carried by a cool, whistling breeze.
Groups gathered around Toliver as others followed Armotto's example. Without warning, the Deagrons closest to them launched backward with violent force as if shoved by a giant, invisible hand. The scene panned in tight on Toliver, his eyes now wide open and filled with intense purpose. Then, making a T with outstretched arms and clinched fists, he sent another, more powerful wave of Source into the mob of Deagrons. The strange action scattered dozens of the beasts in every direction.
Their haze lifted—figuratively and literally—more and more people moved to bunch tight around Toliver. With systematic determination, Toliver parted the sea of Deagrons and led those willing and able toward freedom.
The first Source Sphere, Steffor reflected, a raw version of what Guardians practiced today. Toliver's inability to contain the Source was the primary reason he managed to save the handful of souls that he did. The rest, the vast majority of the human population living amongst the Provider's holy limbs during that fateful age, fell victim to the Deagrons.
Kilton released a long sigh and the projection from his staff ended. Drained, he turned back around and slouched down against the wall. For the first time, Kilton looked old to Steffor.
As Kilton rested, Steffor contemplated the events just witnessed. The Razum Massacre was a story rarely revisited. This was in part due to the complete lack of any Mysticnet images surrounding the event, at least those accessible to the common Citizen. Another part related to the word-of-mouth recital of the event from one generation to the next, relegated to a handful of bard Mystics and Teutons. Steffor concluded the main reason few revisited this crucial event in history—and why The Four have withheld this rendition—was due to the unfathomable anguish experienced by so many. Thousands of seasons later, the emotional wound dealt by the Deagrons to our collective psyche has yet to heal.
"I am grateful you chose to share this with me. And while it reaffirms how and why the races were formed, for me, it shows more of why they still exist," Steffor stated.
"How so?" Kilton asked, his eyes distant and unfocused.
"The few who participated in Toliver's Exodus started to exhibit the traits and skills of the four races soon after." The combination of stressful events, along with Toliver exposing them to shifted Source, awoke the dormant skills in each. Armotto was the next, becoming the first Shifter to emerge, shifting the crude trail up the Trunk that enabled those early survivors to escape.
"Despite our eventual resurgence and lasting victory over our enemy, the trauma inflicted by the Deagrons still persists," Steffor continued, thinking out-loud. “The Deagron age etched scars deep into our souls. Thousands of short, frantic incarnations, desperate to survive and propagate, armed with knowledge that our experience gleamed from the dismal existence, no matter how brief or seemingly insignificant, added to the collective; toward the growth and survival of the next generation, a generation we ourselves would be part of."
A reactive shudder ran down Steffor’s tense body as the final pieces started to fall in place. "Our fight to survive spawned the races. But the mechanism that saved us from certain extinction has now become our impediment. The races prevent us from taking the next step in our evolution."
"Impediment? Our advanced existence today is undeniably tied to the races."
"Yes but the drive to survive, triggered by our deep-seated fear of the Deagrons, still exists in our unconsciousness. Despite this need to survive being absent for over a thousand seasons, its pervasive influence still dictates our thoughts, actions and beliefs today."
Steffor's heart raced as his mind moved ahead of his words. He needed the revelation to settle, for the spirit and body to catch up to his calculating brain. Kilton stood back up and placed his hands on Steffor's shoulders. Steffor mirrored the action and looked deeply into the other's eyes.
Foreheads pressed together, they embraced for several minutes. Kilton's earlier fatigue was gone and Steffor sensed a new peace dwelling within his friend. Kilton pulled back, breaking the silence with a statement Steffor would never forget.
"You are destined to be the First Ascendant." Kilton delivered the statement in a flat, neutral tone, as if reciting a popular verse from the Deeds, an irrefutable truism.
Steffor stepped back, fumbling with his reply. "You honor me with your words master but there is little doubt in the world that it is you who will first rejoin the Provider."
Kilton listened to Steffor's protest, a patient smile forming in the corner of his mouth, a soft laughter in his eyes.
He knew nothing would change Kilton's resolve but Steffor protested anyways, irritated by the youthful squeak edging his words. "Your advancements are unparalleled while mine have just begun to grace the Deeds. My path is unclear. How can you make this assertion?"
His thoughts read by his master before he could voice them, Kilton replied in the same level tone. "The Deeds tell us: The answer to every question is within the Self. Every Citizen believes these words but none live them such as you."
Kilton's statement moved Steffor, an inexplicable but welcome validation of his fragile revelation about the four races. With less effort required than he would have thought, he fought the compulsion to deny his importance and chose instead to embrace it. As he did so, he saw a new side of himself mirrored in Kilton's face, the peace one experiences when in the undeniable presence of the Provider.
"Events in your near future will liberate all of us to a higher truth. Stay active. Stay patient. Most of all, trust the Provider to show the way. Know this Steffor; your choices going forward dictate our fate and the fate of worlds yet to come."
Known Afterlife (The Provider Trilogy: Volume I) Page 19