A memory of Suiming

  Percise date unknown, the School Hall of Herald Astra, Spree

  “Dear listeners, I shall conclude my speech here, with a question that I hope one of you could answer one day,” Dame Tamsin of Spree said, taking a sip from the intricate goblet. Her shadow cast on the wooden wall behind her, much taller than the old lady she was.

  The goblet was mirroring the shining sun’s light. Her most famous and talented student, Rasa of the Farland, sat next to Suiming. Her blue eyes were focused on her mentor as her hand scribbled something on the paper. Suiming waited for Tamsin’s question. She was one of the scholars he admired, even as someone once highly respected as Suiming was, he still found qualities in Tamsin and Rasa that he couldn’t find in himself.

  “Why is that, despite having roots in the Realm of Gaps, abnormalities, Existences, arcane items have scents, but Realm-art- waves?”

  “The theory of three shadows and three lights cannot answer it; the ancient text from the First Mephisto said no word about it. Our mind and reason are the only tools.”

  …

  “Tamsin, Rasa, Romily, Marcus, Xi Luoan, Akimitsu…all other scholars…we stepped on each other’s shoulders, thus, we reach the heavens,” Suiming said, reminiscing about the faces of the great minds.

  This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. He had reached the place none had reached, the place of endless theory and speculation, a place where no explorer could prepare to enter. It was a place where worlds were born, according to the knowledge Suiming had. The scholarly side of Suiming started to take notice of his surroundings. He could feel the slight chill on his skin, the empty darkness before him. It was the same darkness in Fosfor’s domain, only not shielded by her power. Suiming thought he’d be killed instantly if he were no longer in the world’s protection, but he could breathe and move the same as he did before. The feeling was not like swimming, nor in the state of the solidified time, but felt like flying. Like dandelions’ fluff, floating in the air.

  There was no doubt that his arcane items and Realm-art could function normally; multiple experiments and studies proved the fact that Realm-arts’s source is the Realm of gaps, though the logic behind it was not fully understood. Suiming closed his eyes, concentrating on his sense of scents and castings. The scent was chaotic, but silent, filled with the lingering feeling of passing abnormalities and trails of Exaitences, but among the stir of scents, Suiming felt something else. Something akin to sitting next to a hearth on a winter night. In the grainy darkness, he saw a lamp. A warm, dazzling light, encapsulated in a silky cover. He felt like the lamp was pulling him somewhere beyond the vision, as if a tiny string puppeting him toward somewhere. Suiming opened his eyes slowly, staring in the direction of the lamp he felt. The emptiness formed something, similar to a shadow of the wave, and the form shaped into a giant circle. It was filled with tiny particles of light, interconnected like a spider’s web, each spanning longer than the Silver Arm.

  “What…is that?” Suiming muttered, and he reached his hand in that direction. Making sure that he wasn’t right beside it. His fingers touched nothing, not even a single feedback from his fingertips. The temperature was mild, the air was empty, no dust fell on him, and no raindrop kissed him. Suiming tried to sense any wave or scent from that thing, but it only radiated scents weaker than whispers. The collage of puny scents was made of everything perceivable- dangerous, looming scent of abnormalities, uniformed, bland scent of arcane items.

  Suiming focused on that entity as he spotted something sticking out. A series of six dots, in a sharp, concrete silhouette, circled the greater, vague form. They were like moons to the greater sphere, reminding Suiming of gas giants he once observed from telescopes.

  One of the dots looked familiar; its white reflection was noticeable from a distance, like a bright star in the night sky, and the pale color was slowly eaten away by a black dot.

  Suiming decided that it was time to approach the great circle while paying attention to Ferr’s anchors on the way. Moving in the Realm of Gaps was faster than he thought; his body freely glided forward as he cast his Realm-art. His stars left a shining trail, marking the way he came from.

  Suiming felt surprised yet disappointed at the same time. The Realm of Gaps was emptier than he thought, just as he’d expect. On his way toward the great circle, he noticed crumbling, falling structures, the shrines, and stone walls from the days beyond. As the theory of the Treisaulian scholar, Dzintare, suggested, the remnant tide enters the Realm of Gaps during the non-remnant tide months. Some of them looked familiar, especially the forgotten temples that worshipped obscure beings nobody could name. The pieces of the ruins were scattered into two rows, like a royal road that welcomed Suiming toward the grand entity before him.

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  Silence.

  A constant melody of the Realm, but this time suddenly chilling. As Suiming felt something creeping toward him. Wind whistled. A ghastly, screeching wind. It came from everywhere, even from the inside of his ears. Right as Suiming tried to ignore the whispering storm, he realized that it came from him. His mouth was wide open, his vocal cords trembling as he screeched in a voice that he didn’t know he was able to make.

  A being greater than the idea of greatness, something so grotesque and cyclopian that it was beyond his comprehension. He was smothered by the scent of it, the space emptiness torn apart as the thing approached, it showed Suiming something lesser than nihility, something that he was not meant to see. He could see the lack of being behind the curtain of the false nothingness; the dark substance behind it leaked out as it formed strands akin to muscles. There was no hidden wisdom beneath the false veil, only the despair-filled dread. He tried to reason what it was, what was under the cosmic veil. Was it a shadow on a wall, a dismembered figure of its essence? Was the Realm of Gaps he was seeing shrouded in some kind of nebula or gas? The basis of Realmlore was the assumption that the Realm of Gaps and the matters within it are fundamental, constant, and that there is nothing smaller than the Realm’s brick for creation. The fabric of reality broke apart, but strands of it pulled it back, like a healing scar. It almost seemed like the scar was humiliating Suiming, clowning the progress of science and knowledge mankind had built for millennia.

  The pain from his wound pierced him. He felt like his skin was turned inside out, his flesh reaching out. Suiming halted as he pulled up his shirt to inspect the wound. The fabric’s friction only made the pain even worse, spreading the pain wider. His obsidian-black scar was the same as it was before. The same texture, the same shape, only the pain deepened. The creeping sensation came even closer, but it did not come for Suiming; he could feel that. If he were that thing’s target, Suiming was sure that he’d be dead. His heart drummed faster than ever before; there was no way of escape, nor put up a fight against that thing.

  Suiming gasped for air, deep breath pulling in the strange vacuum that didn’t suffocate him. Despite being able to breathe, Suiming didn’t feel the oxygen filling his body, nor did the pain ease. Suiming felt that his livingness was no longer sustaining his Realm-art. His mind flickered between utter lucidity and deep slumber. The trail of stars faded as he fought against the pain. One by one, the stars silenced, and the constant dance of the stardusts came to an end.

  “…Should’ve brought a coffin, at least I’d have a nap in it…” Suiming said to himself.

  As he felt that the thing was approaching, that the dread and pain would break him, he felt a scorching heat in his pocket. The heat was akin to a burning talisman, with a familiar feeling emanating from the heat.

  The two beaten copper coins shot out of his waistcoat, shining a light as bright as the moon; they left a trail of radiance as they ricocheted away. A bridge of light formed in front of Suiming, the coins burning away, until they disintegrated into fine dust of hope. Suiming felt the endless dread fainting away, but still existing far away. He was too afraid to look at it, knowing that it was something beyond the prowess of even the Starseeker.

  Without a second thought, Suiming followed the trail of light, fighting against the crushing pain as he staggered forward. Suiming moved smoothly on the bridge, quick and swift, as if he were a bullet shot out of a musket.

  The bridge led toward the great entity made of vague form. Gliding on the bridge, he reached the grand circle, near the six dots that seemed as big as the sun at noon.

  Suiming inspected them while he was able to take a breath. The orbs were empty, except for four of them. He saw the white interior of one, pure, blemishless, like the snow, almost white as titanium white sealed in tubes.

  One was filled with bamboo scrolls and mounting papers, covered in Siyuenese writing. Suiming frowned as he wondered about the nature of the bodies, then his eyes met one of them.

  It was the endless flower field, where the sun did not illuminate the land in its glory, but coated it in shadow. As he was mesmerized by the flower field, a black dot, like a period, eclipsed the flower field.

  Suiming smiled. This trip had more than met the eye, though he had more questions than answers, seeing that Fosfor wasn’t the only Barricade, that other powerful allies existed, was enough for him to throw the pain away and pretend nothing happened.

  Suiming looked back at the great circle he was approaching. It now seemed endless, stretching in all directions as the scent coming from it became stronger, like a temple filled with incense.

  He looked around, searching for that metallic device with runes shining. Despite his effort, the Realm was as dark and empty as before. As he searched, one of the dots orbited right next to him. It was bigger than he’d thought, greater than the Grand Dome when standing at the gate.

  What if I jump in?

  Suiming hesitantly glided toward the domain, and inside was an endless birch forest. The black spots on them seemed like eyes. Eyes that had seen the cycle of life. Suiming stopped for a moment and thought about whether he should enter it. It could mean he would be trapped in it; it could mean something beyond his comprehension, perhaps a remnant of Yel or something far more dangerous. Despite all that, his guts told him the things in this domain were worth it.

  “…Screw it, whatever is inside, I’m going down,” he muttered as he fell into the domain.

  A light imploded in his chest, right as he expected a crushing pain that resonated throughout his body.

  His Realm-art sharpened.