"Tell me, Archelaus. What do you think?" Cernunnos cautiously touched the pulsating orb of flesh, still sitting in the middle of Cochlinia. It voraciously devoured the atmospheric Mana, exuding a filtered version of it within the bounds of the protected settlement.
"It's hard to say. He might be going out of control right now or still fighting with it. There aren't enough traces, and I'm unfamiliar with Witchcraft." A glimmering cube rasped while floating around the famed spellcraftsman, analyzing the surrounding Mana flow. "I must say, it's quite the unrefined Exousia Stone."
"Numidea used flesh-stones during its beginnings to ward off the miasmic Mana. It's an ancient Witchspell… one he shouldn't have knowledge of…" His gaze hardened. "What are the odds of him being able to access Damara's memories?"
"I made sure to erase everything during the crafting process, but completely purifying the part of Damara's Anima given to him was impossible." Archelaus sighed. "Animae are strange organs. They're barely evolved mechanisms that allow us to directly interact with Mana, yet show as much complexity as brains. Sometimes, they'd mimic neurological phenomena such as emotions and then simply store them. I'm afraid those are things I'm unable to get rid of."
"You're suggesting that he might be experiencing his mother's unrestrained emotions without knowing it?"
"I'm saying that his persona is slowly getting devoured by a blank copy of Damara's. Every time he uses her power, he'll get swarmed by reflexes previously ingrained in her, techniques she developed during her lifetime, sensations and pulsions she had stifled over countless centuries." He twirled his fingers to play with his levitating cube, speaking in a detached tone. "Needless to say, for a being so young, the results are obvious. At best, he'd descend into complete madness, not that it'll be much different from our dear Sorceress. At worst, his mind would fry, and death would ensue."
"You're too calm for someone who'll possibly have to stare at Death itself. It might serve you to remember that nothing - and I measure my words - is more important to Damara than her beloved son. You're the one who created him, and she'll blame you for any and every dysfunction." The Sorcerer of Knowledge glanced at Cochlinia's entrance, where Numidean spellcasters were being led in. "When were you planning to tell her?"
"She knows." Cernunnos eye's widened in disbelief. Archelaus only smiled. "Your kind really is unfathomable to the rest of us. I've listed every risk and danger to Damara as she forced me to go on with her project. Artificial birth is a new domain, and many details remain unknown. Merging Sorcerer genes with a Homunculus husk is unheard of, even in theory."
The Sorcerer clicked his tongue. "Should he succumb to insanity, what would be his potential?"
"Now that's an interesting thought. You, the boy's own teacher, think of him as dangerous. I guess you can't blame your siblings for having the same fears. That's why they've been avoiding the subject for so long."
"Just answer me."
"I do not know. Equal to Damara, at the very least, which is already a problem for you."
"You're phrasing it as if it doesn't concern you, Archelaus."
"To be honest, I don't care at all. I've learned to detach myself from the dealings of your kind. Something started by a Sorcerer should only impact them, and them alone. Especially when it's the fruit of their stupidity."
The ground suddenly trembled, and cracks slithered on the newly constructed monuments. Violent Mana waves pushed against the earth itself, with the Sorcerer as its source.
"Know your place, human. Lest you seek a reminder of what happened to your brother."
Archelaus remained unfazed, his purple eyes void of fear. The pressure made his black robe sway, only to be forced back by an oppressive aura of equivalent strength.
"Threats do not work on me, Earthshaker. Remember your contract, and I won't forget mine."
The invisible power clash reverberated throughout the central square, making the lingering Cochlinians sweat profusely.
It continued for a few moments until a heavily armored man approached them.
"Revered Sorcerer, we've finished installing the gates." He respectfully bowed.
His plates were thicker than the Numidean average, protecting a massive, towering body. A sealing cloth, like the one Aeden had worn, covered one vertical half of his face. The other half revealed a bald head, one glistening malachite eye, and extremely dark skin - heritage of the Southern Continent's desert dwellers.
He was also one of Damara's generals and an infamously powerful one at that.
Cernunnos broke the tension first, walking away whilst the soldier followed. "Let's see them."
"How typical of him." The spellcraftsman let out another sigh. "He's hesitating."
__
"Did you make it all the way here to stand at the door, child?" The Overseer barely gave them a look, endlessly knitting. "Come hither."
Still wary, Aeden took a step forward inside the wooden house. Floating strands of grey hair crept around Enidra's limbs, lifting her towards another corner of the living room. Similar threads snaked near his damaged, dangling arms. He cautiously tried to move back, only for the older woman to speak again:
"Stay still. The Weeper's miasma corrupts apace. You wouldn't want to succumb so early, do you?" Having yet to raise her head from her patterns, she snapped two fingers.
More strings reached out to his injuries, draining the poison from his shoulder wound before sewing it shut. Then, they started working on his limbs, pumping healing Mana and physically reconnecting the damaged nerves.
The whole thing was done in a matter of minutes, leaving Aeden amazed yet confused. Why would she help him?
"You can see it as an interlude, Sorcerer boy. You earned your respite by taking out the Swamp Dame's guard-dog."
She read his thoughts again, which was naturally irritating. However, her answer puzzled him even more.
"Interlude? What do you mean by that? Actually, start by telling me the truth of this place. I'm sick of not understanding anything."
"Oh," She glanced at him, one single eye wide open. "You've grown more docile. It wasn't a bad idea, after all."
Her knitted sundial twisted and came undone, hiding back under a plain, dirtied hood. She moved from her stool for the first time, sitting in front of the fireplace, right beside Aeden.
"Listen well, for I am no storyteller."
The young man nodded.
"It started a few years after the Profane War, as most tragedies did. The Swamp, mostly untouched by the fighting, offered some degree of protection against the atmospheric Mana. Its boundaries were mystical by nature and repelled the poisoning sickness for a time. However, the inhabitants figured that it wouldn't hold with the Mana's ever-growing density. They resolved themselves to a gruesome end, that is until a passing mother lost herself in their land. She was gaunt and weak, accompanied by a starving child and a crippled pup. A strange, azure gaze and two pupils in each eye marked them as Arai'i."
"Arai'i? Junia's people… They're famed for barrier conjuration, right?"
"Indeed. The mother made a deal with the village. If she erected a dome strong enough to protect the wetlands, they'd host and feed them in return. The poor woman just fled Lichtenhimmel with her daughter and had nowhere else to go. Day and night, she'd shackle herself in the center of the settlement, for she knew no other way. 'It's fine.' she'd repeat when confronted with her child's worry. 'As long as you're warm, as long as you're fed, as long as you're happy… It's fine.'"
"That's horrible. Why would she chain herself?"
"Arai'i were considered less than slaves in Lichtenhimmel, my boy. All her life, she had to exude her power while tethered by iron. That was likely the only method she was aware of to activate her abilities. Fate wasn't kind to her. Over time, the marsh dwellers grew used to her meekness and eventually abused her. Mistreated and profaned, she only held on because her daughter blossomed. She saw her experience real childhood, something she never had, and it was recompense enough. Unfortunately, after years of torment, death crept in. The mother wasn't going to last, and they realized it. 'What better replacement than her offspring?' they said, much to her horror. Forcing a little girl to take the brunt of the atmospheric Mana would kill her, but they didn't listen. She watched as her hands were nailed and her body tied next to her, crying and begging."
"What happened next…?"
"It's obvious. A few seconds was all it took for the pressure to destroy the poor child. Her bones shattered, and her organs spewed out in bloody slime from every orifice. Such a sight would break any mother, and it did. Have you heard of the Law of Sentience?"
"The theory stating that Nightmares are the fruit of sentient life?"
"Yes. Nightmares and Primeval Dreams spawn from the indirect meddling of our subconscious with the atmospheric Mana, an extensively documented phenomenon. Now, what ensued in the Swamp was an extreme anomaly, something that could disprove such a hypothesis. In her dying grief, the mother cursed the village and its inhabitants. Her core, the very incarnation of humility and peace, was defiled as dense, unfiltered Mana flowed through it. She transformed into a Nightmare, powerful enough for its corruption to twist everything around it, giving birth to this very Mana Biome."
Aeden's eyes widened. A person becoming a Nightmare was unheard of, in every myth, every piece of literature, every lesson he had ever received. Something like that couldn't possibly exist, right?
"I guess the mother became known as the Swamp Dame."
"Regrettably. The Swamp Dame seeks to get her daughter back, the only thing that ever gave her joy in life."
"Isn't she dead? How would she bring her back?"
"Necromancy." Enidra's voice suddenly echoed, startling the Sorcerer.
"Necromancy? But Nightmares shouldn't be able to use spellcasting."
"There's another way." The young woman exhaled, eyes closed. "There's an altar near the Southern edge of the marsh. It contains the daughter's preserved remains… The Swamp Dame forces us to capture every Outsider that comes in Luascach… and kill them for compatible body parts."
"How does she force you?"
"You remember your first night here, right? At dusk, the Swamp Dame would rise from her slumber. She'd visit her daughter's altar and subject us to pure agony should there be no sacrifice. Her influence carves our flesh…" She pursed her lip, shuddering just by thinking of it. "And corrupts our features, forcibly morphing us into hideous monsters."
"Eni…-"
"That's why I didn't want you to stay. I was afraid that they'd get you, terrified that pain would twist my mind and make me do something I'd forever regret!" She yelled in frustration.
A sudden impulsion compelled Aeden to hug her, to smother her suffering as if it was his own. At least, she wouldn't be hurt alone.
"Don't worry, Eni. I'll get rid of your curse. I promise."
The Overseer watched them with a mix of curiosity and awe, slightly bemused.
'How little it takes to change a man.' She thought. 'Such a fragile notion.'