Mark?
What does that mean?
Ryckel then summoned the white flames to check.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Name: Ryckel
Race: Human
Synapse Grade: [Ignited]
Glyphs: [10/500]
Compilers' Hearth: [Not eligible]
Greater Will: ---
Marks: [Exalted] [Mist walker] [Threads of Intent]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Threads of Intent?
That's new. What does that mean?
He focused on [Threads of Intent] and at the same time, a new set of white flames appeared.
[Threads of Intent: When man could still fly, man needed to know about the heart of his brother. Up there, man needed trust more than anything else. This was proved more than ever when Sir Gillan was betrayed by his very own men.]
Woah.
Ryckel was taken back.
I never knew I could do this… and who is Sir Gillan? He was betrayed?
He figured that the description is talking about how maybe the mark has to do with trust? Intent?
Marks…he knew that they granted him specific abilities that he could use. Just like how [Mist Walker] made him faster and stronger only when he was surrounded by the mists.
Speaking of which… maybe there's a description for the rest of the marks?
He focused his mind on the [Mist Walker] mark and another set of white flames appeared.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[Mist Walker: Oh how they fear what was never there. Retribution? Humanity is nature's greatest cockroach. What doesn't kill them only makes them stronger. Even though it maybe at someone's expense.]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The descriptions weren't exactly explaining the ability. The white flames seemed to be telling of a short story that implied the mark's usage.
Weird… very weird indeed.
He then tried to focus on the [Exalted] mark.
Nothing happened.
What the?
Ryckel tried again and again. But nothing.
The white word suddenly flickered, phasing in and out of the air itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[Exalted: #$_&-+()/#@_…Only way(-&$#$-+?...One mind…]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's all gibberish. What does it even mean by Only way and One mind?
Ryckel realized. He had never actually known the use of the [Exalted] mark. What truly is it?
He wrapped his mind around it. Then got tired.
I need to get back… that's more important than trying to figure something that would never find out. At least for now.
He looked above him, at the circle of grey sky he saw from the hole he had fallen through.
How do I get out?
Ryckel looked at hia wings. An idea forming in his head.
He tried to fly. He flapped the hand-wings with all his might, but they only stirred the dust.
Argh!
He groaned in frustration.
Silence. Made him really think. He wanted to turn back to normal. Fuck the wings and all. He wanted to be Ryckel again.
How the hell did I even transform?!
He feared that he'll be stuck like this forever. That mother and Lyra would never look at him the same again…who would?
An outcast. Having no purpose to live anymore…that's if he could still die.
Ryckel looked up the spiral of the ruined staircase. He had to get out.
He flapped again. The back of his mind not expecting nothing to happen.
This time, a strange tickle ran through the palms of his wings. He felt a sudden, violent burst of pressure.
WHOOSH.
He soared high into the air before his momentum died. He plummeted, his claws screeching against the stone as he grabbed a protruding stair-fragment.
Ryckel smirked.
Again.
He jumped, flapped, and lunged. He used the falling debris as footing, jumping from one crumbling step to the next like a mountain goat. He reached the lip of the hole, his hand-claws digging into the Wistnan mud.
He hauled himself over the edge, gasping and shivering in the cold air. The Bleeding Hour is close…
He was alive. He was above ground at long last.
But he was still a monster.
Mom. Lyra. He focused on them. He pictured Lyra's eyes and his mother's calloused hands. He repeated their names like a prayer, using the memory to anchor his fractured heart.
I want to turn back…
Great Light…please. Turhasi... Anyone of you... Please!
Ryckel wasn't a religious person. But he had reached a dead end.
The weight on his face began to itch. The mass of the wings and tail began to soften, the hands deforming and melting back into his skin like wax near a fire.
The beak retracted, his claws shortened, and the obsidian skin turned back to the pale, mud-stained flesh of a sixteen-year-old boy.
Ryckel slumped into the grass, human once more, his clothes drenched in blood that wasn't his anymore.
Y-Yes…
"Yes! Thank you!" Ryckel pumped his fists up in the air.
Was it really the Great Light? Nah. Who cares. Not like they exist anyway.
He then looked at the Half shade herbs all around him. Seeing how some white liquid was oozing from the stems of one of the crushed ones.
"Time to get back," Ryckel whispered, his eyes hardening. "Hood and the rest must be hungry by now." He smirked.
---The End of Chapter 13---