Interconnected: Spliced Souls

“Oh?” Something startling awoke Nyxaris the Darkmagus from their meditation. The lich stood and turned around, observing the orb. It bore a thousand cracks that steadily leaked a crimson glow under the moon’s gentle glow, but it seemed the time had arrived for it to shatter.   

The object hovered and grew with resplendent brilliance until it shattered like glass, raining trillions of fragments that danced on the breeze.   

That wasn’t all.   

The orb contained people. The lesser lich’s creator was the first to descend, albeit she was unconscious.   

The second—a brown-skinned goddess with crimson-streaked black hair and multicolored, pinkish eyes held an unconscious person in her overall-covered arms. At first glance, this pink-haired girl looked every bit as similar to the one Itarr saw with that collar clasped around her neck. Except these fox-like ears and tail were the real thing. They weren’t illusory overlays. She looked like that Momo lookalike Itarr encountered in her soul world before her manifestation occurred.    

That woman was a stranger, though.  

This one? She had to be Momo. She was bustier and taller—barely fitting in her equipment—but this was undoubtedly the girl the goddess had come to cherish. A simple red band fit elegantly around her ring finger, and her hands gently held a malnourished, still-sleeping child close to her chest.   

“O’creator of mine… For the bells have refused to toll… So you shan’t face death today…” The lesser lich held a bony finger to Servi’s cheeks before looking at his creator’s second half.    

“Nyxaris…” Itarr’s voice was weak. She had lost strength in her legs and forced herself to stand, but the strain was too great. She groaned, kneeling away the unbearable discomfort. 

“Easy…” Suddenly, there was another voice as Albert materialized. The dull glow of a red band slightly shimmered on his ring finger before a glove enveloped his hands. He helped Itarr sit before placing Momo and the child near Servi. Albert wasn’t a young boy—not any more. Instinctually, he knew Itarr’s manifestation had forced him to the soul world, which triggered an instance of [Soul Rememberable], aging him to his 16-year-old self. His horns had grown longer and more defined. The tips crackled with energy the same color as his verdant eyes. His grey hair had grown far lengthier.  

No doubt… Albert had gotten much, much stronger. A deeper, sultrier voice accompanied his sudden puberty.    

Itarr heaved. She clutched her chest and fought hard to stabilize her breathing. Albert spoke to the lich, learning that five days had passed since the event known as the Arcton Mountain Cataclysm—the term a certain skeleton priest had overheard during the Arcton recovery efforts—had struck the world.    

“We’ve been out that long?! It’s been…just a minute…” Itarr looked at the destruction… The utter devastation—the undeniable proof of her [Goddess Manifestation]. The reality smacked her in the face. She had caused…all of this.  

The goddess struggled with her thoughts. Albert kept a cold gaze and rationally thought about the best way to proceed. He looked at his ring and finally acknowledged that he was an immortal like Servi. The ring on Momo’s slender finger proved she was the same. In the blink of an eye, his undersized clothing was replaced by a spare set of Servi’s overalls.    

Who was the little girl? She looked familiar. Albert realized Merka’s crystal was with him when he was forcibly returned to the soul world.   

The golem appeared posthaste after the revenant retrieved him, and he immediately darted for the girl upon laying eyes on her. He shivered like a house built on an unsteady foundation.   

Olga… it’s Olga… Olga!!!! Merka wrote on a tablet before brushing his two rocky, ringless hands to her sunken cheeks. This girl was his sister—not a biological sibling—but his sister. Her tiny fists clenched tightly to her most treasured charm.  He was so overjoyed that sandy dust leaked from his eyes, and his stone-like heart felt the warm fuzziness of pure relief.    

Itarr… Her heart felt like a dagger had pierced it. She knew what this must’ve meant.   

If there was one survivor…   

“What about Arcton? Tell me more about the recovery efforts,” inquired Albert as he asked permission to examine Olga for injuries or wounds that necessitated immediate attention.    

Nyxaris told him soldiers, supplies, and medical staff from Lando’s Nail had arrived less than six hours after the mountains disappeared to establish order. They quelled the riots, used wide-range cleansing spells, and began dividing the volunteers into groups to help clean up. The skeleton priest assisted them on Nyxaris’s orders while becoming the lesser lich’s informant. 

The city didn’t fall, but it came close to becoming another statistic on the jowls of history. Would it recover? That was another question. The skeleton priest said the recovery efforts unearthed more corpses every day. The current death count was at 8,462—and it could keep rising. No—it would keep rising. A sense of dread remained over the city—a sense that couldn’t be easily ignored.   

What had happened to them was frightening—alarming-- being brushed so close with the toll of death’s bell? Even people who had lost everything were on the move. They left by the hundreds for Waveret, Canary, and other smaller villages within the Canary Duchy. Anything to run from their nightmares before the soldiers from Lando’s Nail instilled martial law on orders from the king. 

Regardless, the city had a long way to go before it became a glimpse of its former self. And maybe it would evolve into a better version—a reputable town not known for its generalistic unpleasantness.   

“I see… Itarr, can you stand?” Albert returned to the goddess. She was silent, but she found the strength to get up. “Can you get Olga, Merka? She’s exhausted and weakened from inadequate food and water, but she’s not in serious harm. It may be difficult, but we must move.”  

Merka nodded—utterly relieved once more—and lifted his sister—carrying her like a princess.  The poor girl was as heavy as a bag of feathery flowers… She was safe, though. Rest was in her immediate future. He would give her all the sweets and hot tea she would ever want once she had recovered.    

Itarr silently walked to Momo and picked her up. The goddess was silent. Albert knew a lot must’ve been flowing through her mind, so he carried his necromancer.    

It was time to move.   

When will you come out? You cannot hide within the ring forever. 

---

It took three hours of silent walking for a brown-haired boy with lifeless green eyes to manifest from the ring. He was in a sorry state for the exquisite butler outfit he wore while dragging his feet behind him.   

“Why didn’t I die? Why am I still here?” he asked, his quiet, meek voice breaking the extended silence.    

“The answer is clear, Fisher,” Albert replied with a rehearsed response—he knew this question was coming. “Your soul never extinguished itself before Itarr manifested. You’re a ring bearer.”  

“I wanted to be punished for my sins. I wanted to be free of the pain—I didn’t…” Fisher looked at his gloved hands and vividly recalled how he slaughtered a band of kobolds. He was this very size when he manifested his Skill Tablet and became an expert swordsman in just a few minutes. Suddenly, he stopped. The emotions poured across his face. He didn’t say that ring around his finger felt like a curse designed to punish him until time’s end.    

Albert was an intelligent man. He read the mood. “It’s about time to rest,” he said. “Olga’s been moving in her deep sleep, so she could be about to wake up. Let’s stop here for the time being.” 

He gently sat Servi on the softest patch of grass. Itarr did the same with Momo and ensured the two girls held hands. She hoped it would let them awake faster. Merka crafted a rocky chair and sat, keeping his little sister close to his stoney chest.   

Albert gathered wood from the ring for a campfire, and he sat around it with Itarr as Fisher silently cried himself to sleep. The goddess hugged her knees close to her chest.  

“It isn’t healthy to keep it bottled,” Albert said, looking at his hands. “Silence may be comforting at first, but it’s a trap. A void to lull you into despair while trapping you in an unescapable maze of self-doubt.”   

“Albert?”  

“Yes?”  

“What… How… I’m confused,” the goddess admitted. “I don’t know what to do or think. I feel more lost than ever. Servi’s not waking. I don’t know if Momo is okay… And… I…killed…everyone… I destroyed the mountains. Merka, I’m sorry… I… I know you hate me… If she survived…” Itarr finally got what she wanted to say off her chest. She knew Merka hated him. Why wouldn’t he? One survivor meant there could’ve been more. And his hopes of ever meeting them again…  

She dashed them… Those sweet, innocent children…  

Gone… Dead… By Itarr's actions.     

“Mmmnnn…” Merka wanted to respond, but Olga slowly shifted in his arms. She blinked twice and lofted her lethargic head, her eyes widening upon seeing a golem so close to her face. The little girl screamed, jumping away with the paltry strength inhabiting her legs. She fell on her arm and groaned before anyone had time to react.   

Then she saw that woman—the foxy lady with pink hair. Olga scampered, tripping over a stick. She fell, crawled the rest of the way, and tried to wake her. “Please! Help me again! Miss, please! Please, wake up!” Merka figured this would happen. Why wouldn’t it? He looked nothing like his old self, so he didn’t take it to heart. Instead, he stood and approached. Olga was unaware until he was a few inches away. “Stop—Stay away!”   

It's me, Olga. Merka.   

“NO, YOU’RE NOT!!! Stay away!!! I… I… You…” Merka kept writing…and Olga kept reading about events only he and her would know…   

I was there when Oskar gave you that charm. Remember when we hid under the staircase to scare the others? Patty didn’t like it, did she? We had to mop the orphanage twice until she forgave us. I remember how you cried. You didn’t want her to hate you. You slept in my bed and said we were partners in crime. That was our little promise.    

And the waterworks started. Olga’s memories of a nicer, simpler time gushed through her mind as she realized this golem…was the brother she always wanted. “Merky… Is it you? Really…really you?”  

I look like this, but it’s me. After holding the pad for her to read, Olga took Merka’s outstretched hand and cried into his chest. She vented her heart and exhausted her emotions for almost five minutes while Albert prepared a suitable snack to help her recover her strength. She sat on Merka’s lap and ate the stuffed shell, nibbling like a mouse while telling the others what had happened with a dry, hoarse voice soothed by warm milk.    

“So… They were still alive? And I… I killed them… I knew it… I knew it!!!” Itarr whined harder, but Merka immediately stopped her.   

I don’t hate you! It’s not your fault! You didn’t know this would happen, Itarr. No one did! You gave them mercy! You gave them peace! They were in pain, but they’re in a better place!  

It looked like Olga wanted to say something as relief enveloped her tiny body in exhaustion. Merka excused himself and put her near Momo. He sat beside his little sister and continued to hold her hand while she slept with a smile for the first time in a long time.   

“Those other children… And the slaves…” Itarr continued. She was trapped in her mind—a vicious cycle of what-if scenarios played out like a movie—just like the trap Albert had warned her about.  “Why am I a goddess if I can’t save them?!” Itarr’s outburst continued. Merka was surprised to hear the truth. He took it better than he thought—accepted it without denial since only that explained what he had experienced. Or maybe it was his new body. Perhaps it helped steel his emotions? No one knew how a golem’s body would change the soul of a human.   

Except one thing was certain. If a soul failed to adapt or synchronize with a golem's body, reversing the process wasn’t possible. Irreversible harm was done to the soul, and really, the only mercy was death.   

No one else would’ve granted mercy to Merka’s siblings. Certainly not Sakdu… Certainly not any of the guards or necromancers, and certainly not the geomancer responsible for one-half of the cruel experiments.    

Merka wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. Not after finally reuniting with a loved one.    

“Ten thousand souls… Ten thousand bodies… That was the cost. I don’t know how I know it… It’s a feeling, but the innocents… They were sacrificed to allow me to leave the soul world. I don’t even have that SP because those souls were obliterated! Why?!” Itarr closed her eyes and screamed into her hands. “Why did it come at that cost?! It’s not fair! I didn’t ask for that!!!” Immediately, she regretted it. Luckily, Olga was still asleep.  Fisher had woken up from the outburst, but Itarr didn’t apologize to him.    

"I wish I had an answer.” Albert’s voice was solemn. Growing older had given it a rustic deepness. “Know this. You are the reason why Canary still stands. The city will thrive, and the orphanage will only be built because of you. Let us honor their memories. Itarr, that is what we can do.”   

“That isn’t enough! If it had happened near Canary... Or Waveret!!! Or Arcton...” Another outburst. Vitriol tinged her voice, but Itarr wasn’t directing her anger toward Albert. It was more so herself.  The teenage revenant saw how tightly Itarr gripped her fingers. He approached, kneeled, and hugged her, and the goddess cried into his undead arms.  

Her emotions were vented—this was what she needed. A good cry always helped.    

“Even a goddess needs to rest…” Albert whispered. Itarr trusted him enough to fall to the unneeded luring of sleep. He gently sat her beside Servi and returned to nursing the fire. “I know you’re awake.”  

“…” Fisher wiped his crying eyes and sat up. He looked at his childish, weak body and formed a fist right enough to shatter his bones. The pain remained as the injury healed in a flash.  “Do you hate me?”  

“Pity is the more apt term. You don’t deserve forgiveness for your sins. I’ll say this. You are not alone. I’ve done unspeakable horrors for Emperor Keywater’s sake.” Merka silently watched, but much of his focus was on Olga.    

“Do you regret them?”  

“With every passing day. I thank him for saving my life, but I cannot excuse the man he became. Nor can I forgive myself for allowing it to get this far.”  

“Is this my curse?”  

“I wouldn’t call it that.” Albert narrowed his eyes. “Do not repeat that in front of Servi.” The overall-wearing butler told the former lieutenant how Itarr suffered when Nimyra accidentally called immortality a curse.   

“I…”  

“Speechless?”  

“I am. My family… Does this mean I’ll…” Fisher bit his lips. “A father isn’t supposed to outlive their children. He isn’t supposed to bury them.”  

“The world is not fair. Nor is it just. I do not know if you can remove a ring from a bearer.”  

“I… can’t ever hold them, can I? I won’t be there when they get married. I’ll never hold my grandchildren. I’ll…never kiss my wife again. There won’t be any more bedtime stories… Or… Shit…”   

“Seeing from a distance is still possible, but it won’t lessen the pain…” Albert spent the rest of the morning informing Fisher what Butterfly Rumble had done for the lieutenant’s family.  

Fisher listened to every word.   

As a father, he desired his children’s happiness above his own. They were his everything. Their smiling faces kept his heart as darkened as his heart was warm.   

When the crimson light of the morning sun shattered the night sky, Fisher looked up and smiled with his reddened, raw eyes. “I’ll have to thank them. Servi… Momo… Srassa… Itarr…”  

“At the very least, you were an excellent father and husband. Take pride in that.” As with the goddess—multiple times, already—Albert was an emotional cornerstone. He used his litany of experience to help a father navigate his emotions without the man knowing it.  

Itarr awoke not long after. She had cried and admitted she spent restless hours aimlessly wandering their soul world. Fisher was confused. The mechanics behind being a ring bearer and member of [Pantheon] wasn’t explained to him. When he saw the soul world for the first time, he thought it was his deserved place in hell. The bloody fountain... The ocean of crimson... He believed that reflected the sheer amount of innocent lives he had cruelly stolen far before their time. That outfit he found… He didn’t know Albert had laid it out until now. Fisher didn’t know what he did to leave the soul world.  

There was a lot to cover, but Fisher understood enough by the time they reached the outskirts of Arcton Forest. Neither Servi nor Momo had awoken by the mid-afternoon sun— and Itarr’s worries kept growing. She often prayed. To who? She didn't know. Itarr didn't know any other god or goddess, so she turned to the world and begged it to help her friends.   

Olga remained in Merka’s arms.  She awoke every two hours to get a bite to eat to regain her strength and something warm to soothe her throat. The girl needed rest. Her big brother Merka was the perfect bed. She didn’t mind his rocky body.    

“We’ll reach the road in an hour,” said Albert. He used the landscape to help guide them. Fisher remarked it felt odd to not feel tired. They covered so much distance in so little time, then immediately added that he didn’t mean disrespect. Itarr knew he hadn’t.   

Her feelings about him were conflicted. He was a victim, but Fisher was responsible for Sakdu, monotonia, and the Kaisaku Syndicate. A world-spanning underground society was made to inflict the most amount of anguish upon him and his family. Only the all-knowing knew how many that organization had killed to get this far.  

Fisher knew how close his family was to paying the ultimate price for his sins. He honestly couldn’t thank Itarr enough. The adult-turned-immortal boy told her what Albert had mentioned to him-- about spending time with his family. He thanked her for the blood crystal figurines.   

If nothing else, the goddess understood Fisher’s love for his family. It was genuine. Someone like Itarr could see it as plain as day.    

The former lieutenant… He wasn’t okay. He kept his more internal concerns and fears hidden. He thought Itarr and the others had suffered enough listening to his whining.   

The group reached the road. Itarr remarked how quiet and serene it was. However, they never met another soul along the devoid path. Darkness eventually conquered the skies, and it was time to camp. 

“I don’t hear any animals. The birds are gone,” commented Itarr. The campfire Albert had built illuminated her solemn face and cast light on Servi’s and Momo’s unconscious bodies. They hadn’t stirred a single inch. The goddess was getting worried. She didn’t know what to do.   

“They’ll be back,” said the butler. He nursed a stick of meat over the campfire for Olga. She was looking better, but Itarr still worried about her. A girl that young should not have been that thin or malnourished. Fisher kept quiet. He hadn’t spoken in hours.   

“Albert?”  

“Yes?”  

“Is...there something I can do? Momo visited our soul world, and we don’t know how it happened. Do you think I can recreate that feeling? Do you think that might help?”  

“I don’t see why not. It certainly wouldn’t hurt.” He didn’t know why Itarr asked permission, although he had a few dozen guesses—all of them were correct. The goddess slowly crawled to her best friends and made them hold hands. Itarr placed hers on top, closed her eyes, and focused. She desperately prayed to anyone—even herself—for assistance. For guidance. For clarity on this tumultuous time. To help her understand her growing feelings that she couldn’t handle.   

Please... Servi... Momo... Please, wake up... I miss you guys... I need you...