Chương 1: Life, Death, and Other Unusual Magics

MYTHSHAPER The Complete Account of Arilyn Arcis O'Ryon Compiled and Translated into Classical English by Eon R. Solara PART I Chapter 1 Life, Death, and Other Unusual Magics I wailed in a gut-wrenching scream, snatching another chance at life from the clutches of Death. Pain ripped through my core as my eyes snapped open. A bright, glaring light blinded me, followed by an overflow of tears. I had to squint to keep my eyes from wavering, but even that proved to be hopeless.

The light receded and dimmed, and in its place, a huge, radiant head loomed closer, staring at me unblinkingly. Startled, I cried, exerting every ounce of my will to break free from the giant's grip. But my efforts were futile. I could not muster up the barest minimum of strength. All my energy was wasted on wailing. No matter the effort I put into speaking, all I managed was incoherent wailing. The giant held me close, as if afraid to let go.

Then, through blurry eyes, I noticed the bright auburn locks cascading over her shoulders, her exterior pale and feminine. She was staring at me kindly, tears in her eyes, a deluge of raw emotions playing across her luminescent face. Finally, I grasped the ultimate conundrum of my predicament. The woman was not a giant. Excluding the golden radiance exuding from her skin, she was as normal as a human could be. It was I who had shrunk, nestled in the protective custody of her arms as if I were a baby to be pampered.

In fact, I was a baby—a newborn one, at that. The woman cradled me and passed her other palm over my chest. She whispered soothing words into my ears—words I was hopeless to comprehend—yet they calmed my restless heart. A dim, golden string of light spilled from her palm and disappeared into my skin as she rubbed my chest. Something inside me resonated with the light. My chest grew warm as the combined effort of the light and her soothing voice drove the pain away.

The brief respite finally afforded me a moment to contemplate the sheer absurdity of my situation. This could have been a feverish dream for all I knew, a figment of my imagination. Not for a second did I believe that events such as reincarnation or rebirth were normal… At least, not with my memories intact… Wait, who was I? My memories failed me. I wracked my brain to find an answer, but all I recollect was a faint image… I was dying… somewhere chilly and dark… with an icy blade in my chest…

The thought of my mother—of what she had done—crossed my mind, yet no mental image of her appeared. Only a vague silhouette, and perhaps a gentle smile. Utter terror gripped me as I struggled in the woman's grasp. I lost more and more about myself. The most emotion-laden memories went first: my friends, companions, and family—people I could trust with my life. The memories drifted off like wisps of river fog threading their way up in the sunlight. Despite all my toil to cling to the fog, it slipped from my grasp.

All that was left of me was the vague impression of my education. Without a second thought, I tried to put it to the test… The best I could muster with my current mental faculties was to count to nine before a strain prickled my mind. I turned my attention back to the woman. The incandescent feature of her skin had dimmed while I dealt with my inner turmoil. Well, dealt was a overstatment. But at least I felt safe under her care, despite all the powerlessness. So, I was a baby.

My fragile brain turned to mush just thinking about the mysteries of such an event. I had no choice but to sleep on the problem... Several hours later, I awoke again, properly cleaned and swaddled in a cotton cloth, still on the lap of the woman… My mother? I tried to commit her face to memory. It was a demanding job with my terrible baby eyes. At least she did not glow like a lightbulb anymore. She appeared to be in her early thirties, fair-skinned, her face pale and... symmetrical?

A little sickly, perhaps, as if she had been through a great battle recently. Maybe she had not fared well in labour, yet she could still stand with a baby in her arms. Sometime after, the door of the hovel opened, and a man came in. Tall, dark, and bald, he was swathed in black attire and looked somewhat frightening to be my father. Then his eyes found me, and the look in them changed. Tears streamed down from those bloodshot eyes as he picked me up into his arms.

The man was large, built like a boulder, and his arms were… not particularly gentle to say the least. He kissed me on the cheek, once, twice, thrice, and wiped his tears. I contemplated another bout of cries. To my relief, the man returned me to the more responsible person. Kissing her on the head, he led us to sit on a bedroll, and finally uttered some words into my ears. Obviously, my infant brain failed to grasp the words, not that I was listening, distracted by the strings of light weaving in the air.

But then a sharp pain stung my left palm, jolting me awake. I wailed once more, eliciting her to cradle me on her lap. The pain washed away, soon followed by a voice. I looked between them to find that neither of the two had uttered the words. Furthermore, the voice was clearer, younger, and comprehensible, and it rang in my mind. [You have been named.] [Arilyn Arcis O'Ryon, welcome to the paths. The Oracle Spell understands your unique circumstances. The Paths are partially open for you.] What in the world?

I was flabbergasted. Who are you? No idea of what it could be came to mind. All I could do was listen to the words until they finished their commentary with a presentation of a lustrous green box with text written in it. [Profile] Arilyn Arcis O'Ryon Path: U/A Honours: U/A Attributes [1/8]: Cognition (Elementary) +1 Gift: [Fractal Soul] Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. [You may summon your Profile by staring intently at the mark in your left palm.] Dumbly, I ran the words through my mind. It seemed to be something only I had heard and seen, as my mother betrayed no sudden reaction to suggest otherwise. True to its words, I found a small, intricate wheel mark on my left palm. What's really going on here? Well, compared to my reincarnation, this was only a little startling. Still, I could not help but wonder how they were transferring their voice into another's mind without a single wisp of presence. Some trick with vibrations? Magic?

That reminded me—my mother had magical power? In my earlier restlessness, I had failed to see the implication behind that. Was she a healer? Considering her spell had driven away my pain… Could she teach me magic? Had I inherited the power from her? Can magic be learned if it isn't hereditary? Dozens of such questions crawled through my mind with little to no explanation. I would be lying if I said I had not considered all of it to be a drunken dream. Mother always thought I had a knack for creativity… Mother…

Mother, who looked after everyone, worked tirelessly, and never received all that she deserved… I sighed as I remembered one last fact. My mind lingered on my name. Arilyn was countless times better than what I could have come up with. No complaint there. Now, what did it mean by Fractal Soul? Fractal, like the geometric shapes? Glad to know I was not utterly dumb, though I had no clue what a geometric soul had anything to do with reincarnation. And what about attributes? Cognition? Was it what I thought it was?

Brainpower? Whatever it was, I seemed to lack a great deal of it as drowsiness fell over me, akin to the end of times, leaving me with no choice but to rest in the warm embrace of sleep.

The scream of something unholy awakened me from my rest. An involuntary cry tore from my throat as more soul-chilling screeches echoed around me. Darkness surrounded all side, while repulsive stench wafting in the wind almost made me regret being alive. It was as if a thousand rats had died out there somewhere. I was being carried, held tightly against a woman's chest—my mother! She dashed with furious efficiency, never pausing to search for the source of the cries or the reek.

Perhaps she was being reckless, holding a newborn in her arms like that, but I could not blame her if we were being chased by monstrous creatures. Several large, bat-like creatures dove towards us. With thin, almost invisible wings, their sinewy forms glided menacingly through the air. Disoriented as I might be, I did not fancy another brush with Death. Not at the claws of these hideous creatures. One came dangerously close, but my mother gave it only the attention it deserved.

With her free arm, she swatted it aside, sending its twisted body flying several metres. More attacked from each side, forcing her to falter until dozens of thin golden strands extended from her and lashed out at them. The golden tendrils did not kill them right away. Instead, she dragged them forward, yanking on the threads of power until their bodies jerked under the strain and tore apart. Seeing her effortlessly dispatch so many of these creatures eased my fear, but then the true horror declared its presence.

A quavering shriek froze her in her tracks. A golden light cascaded over me, woven by those strings of hers, protecting me from the impact of the cry that seemed to have a physical presence. Then a tremor ran through the spine of earth, as though colossal meteors were showering about our surroundings. It was no meteors, but a creature barrelling towards us—a creature so massive my eyes could barely take it all in.

It was several metres tall, hairless, with grotesque leathery skin and sinewy flesh stitched together to craft a fiend that pales Victor Frankenstein's creation by a fair margin. My mother's grip on me tightened as golden strings of power gathered around her arms. She cradled me against her chest, the shimmering energy shielding me. Her figure drifted off in the air, and we found ourselves in the leagues among the flying creatures. The colossal demon was undeterred.

Opening its inky black maw, it pounced at us, only for a figure to blur past our silhouettes and stand before it. He stood with only a sword, his figure, mighty and impressive by all standards of men, was dwarfed by the staggering demon. Yet when the creature plunged its claws towards us, he stood tall. With a single swing, he cleaved the monster's claw open, murky blood spilling in a fountain. My mother's hold prevented me from seeing the entire fight, but I could tell the man—my father—knew what he was doing.

Relief washed over me. My mother shouted something at him as she rushed past—words I could not understand. I suspected he did not hear them either, fully absorbed in battling the impossible foe. He shouted back and surged forward. I thought I heard him speak my name—the very name he had given me. Then something smashed into us from behind, nearly knocking me loose from her grasp. To both our relief, her grip was stronger than I had imagined. She clutched me tight as we slammed into the ground.

My vision blurred, and so did my consciousness. I fought to remain awake. If I were to die again, I wanted to witness it with my eyes open. I was hopeless to win that fight. Darkness swallowed my thoughts, and all I could do was pray to the silent gods that we would survive.

I was alive. The experience left me dazed, but when I opened my eyes, daylight filled the world, and there was no trace of those blighted creatures. Unfortunately, I could not say the same for everyone. My mother was with me, but my father was nowhere to be found. As the day came to pass, his visage remained missing. My heart pounded at the memory. In all honesty, I remembered very little about him—only that he was tall, gloomy, and bald, with calloused hands that were terrible at holding babies.

But then I remembered when he named me, the sheer joy on his face. I sighed and decided not to jump to conclusions just yet. Perhaps he was delayed by bad weather. There was too much uproar in the sky already. As days passed, we had moved from the hovel where I was born to somewhere better in the countryside, perhaps. Life flourished here, and so far, I had seen no signs of those cursed creatures. My early days were peacefully boring, with little to do beyond contemplating life, death, and reincarnation.

There had to be a reason, a purpose for my rebirth. Just as gravity operates, there must be laws governing life and death. The topic was so nerve-wracking that I had to spend equal amounts of time staring at the monotonous, inclined roof to recalibrate my feeble brain. The wooden house did not speak of wealth—I guessed I missed out on that lottery—but it had four separate rooms, nice furnishing, and most importantly, it was warm and cosy.

Imprisoned by the weight of my own head, my daily life was filled with immaculate tasks like drinking, sleeping, peeing, and defecating. Only one of these could I manage on my own, to my utter terror. The worst part was my occasional inability to control my bowels. I was fairly capable of managing them while awake, but on many occasions, I'd wake to the smell of my own piss. And then cry. Infantile amnesia, please erase those embarrassing memories first! I prayed, clasping my palms together.

Only when my mother came to change my clothes and sing me to sleep did I find relief. She was an angel like that. I was awake in my cradle when she came to check on me. Her lips curled into a smile upon seeing me reach out my arms towards her. Yes, that was all I could manage, along with some jumbled mumbling. Although I had learned many words since my birth, my vocal cords were not yet developed enough to articulate any of them. For instance, if I wanted to say mama, it came out as "Yaya" at best.

My mother would always adopt a childish voice to call my name when speaking to me. This occasion was no different. I showed my appreciation with giggles, which brought a radiant smile to her face like spring sunshine. She lifted me, ensuring my clothes were dry. It was the Afternoon Stroll Time, arguably my favourite part of the day. Every day, she carried me around the neighbourhood, past the same houses and wheat fields, as a few people came to talk with her. My attention, however, drifted everywhere.

Today, it was skyward, where flocks of cloud folded together to create a spiral pattern. My eyes were not perfect, far from it if I was being honest. I struggled to track moving objects. Perks of being a couple-of-months-old baby. Yet, I did not believe there was nothing magical about the pattern. As though prompted by my thinking, those magical threads of light high within the clouds revealed themselves to me. [A new Way is accessible: Fractal Sight I (1/100)] I blinked as an involuntary groan escaped my lips.

An impaling pain jammed into the back of my mind, causing me to shut my eyes before I could grasp anything. Well, it did prove there was something mystical about the spiralling clouds, though it failed to explain anything more, much like my own existence. Noticing my pain, Mother cast the same spell on me. Golden light spilled from her fingertips in a string of chains and disappeared into my skin. The mystical power washed away most of my weariness.

I had formed a distinct mental image of the light threading in eight separate ways through my body in a clear, symmetrical form. Naively, I entertained the notion that if I could latch onto this warm power and somehow tame it, I might become a sorcerer or healer one day. A familiar sensation stirred in my left palm, and the Spell's voice manifested as if affirming my fantasy. [A new Way is accessible: Essence Sense I (1/100).]