The morning light streamed through the stained glass windows of the chapel, casting shifting hues of blue and gold across the stone floor. I had come to expect the silence of these early hours, the distant murmurs of prayers, the quiet footsteps of the sisters tending to their duties. Today, however, Father Lucian had something else in mind.
"Today's lesson will be different," he said, his voice measured, steady. "We have spoken of the structure of the soul, but now you must understand its nature."
I inclined my head slightly, waiting.
"The soul is not a single thing," he continued, turning the pages of a thick, worn book. "It is shaped by life, molded by choice, and stained by experience. No two souls are identical, yet they fall into patterns, types, that define their nature."
He gestured for me to follow him deeper into the sanctum. The air grew heavier here, thick with the scent of aged parchment and burning wax. Before us, a wooden stand held an ancient manuscript, its ink faded but still legible.
"There are many kinds of souls," he said. "Too many to name in a single sitting. But to understand them, we place them into groups."
He lifted his hand, fingers hovering over the text as if tracing unseen lines of meaning.
"First, there are the Radiant Souls—those who shine, who bring warmth and light to others. Their presence alone inspires. Saints, heroes, those destined to lead with kindness and strength. But even light casts shadows. Those with Radiant Souls burn brightly, but if left unchecked, they may consume themselves or blind others with their brilliance."
I considered that. A soul that could inspire… or destroy through its own intensity.
"Then, the Corrupted Souls," he went on. "Twisted, whether by their own desires or by forces beyond their control. These souls spread decay, not always by intention, but by existence alone. They are drawn to ruin, and ruin is drawn to them."
His tone was careful, neutral. He did not pass judgment, only stated fact.
"Eternal Souls," he continued. "Those who persist, who endure. Even in death, they linger. Sometimes as ghosts, sometimes as something far more dangerous. A soul that refuses to fade can become a force beyond mortality."
A pause. The candlelight flickered.
"Feral Souls are driven by instinct. Beasts in human skin, or perhaps something more primal than even animals. They are fierce, untamed, unbound by reason."
There was a faint shift in his expression, something unreadable. He turned the page.
"Dominion Souls command. Whether through strength, cunning, or sheer will, they bend others to their purpose. Kings and conquerors often possess such souls, though so do tyrants."
I listened intently, barely moving. Every word built the world around me, revealing unseen forces at play.
"Malignant Souls... these are those who exist to oppose, to harm, to destroy for the sake of destruction. Unlike Corrupted Souls, which may be victims of fate, Malignant Souls choose their path willingly."
Another pause. I had the feeling he had seen such souls before.
"Withered Souls—fading, drained, struggling to remain. A soul too weak to sustain itself will wither, just as a body deprived of sustenance."
I took in a slow breath. How many people had souls like that? How many had simply dried up under the weight of life?
"Fragmented Souls—broken. Shattered. These people are incomplete. Whether through trauma or interference, parts of their soul are missing."
He closed his eyes briefly before continuing.
"Some souls are made for battle. Warrior's Souls burn with a fire that cannot be extinguished, a drive to fight, to push forward no matter the cost. They are drawn to struggle, to the clash of steel and the taste of victory."
I remembered something, then. Something I had meant to ask.
"Aura," I murmured.
Lucian glanced at me, surprised I had spoken.
"You remembered," he said with a nod. "Yes. Aura is the extension of the soul's force into the material world. Warriors who refine their souls can exert this force, strengthening their bodies, intimidating foes, or even resisting supernatural effects. But only those with strong souls can wield aura effectively."
I stored that away, another piece of the unseen mechanics of this world.
He continued.
"Loner's Souls stand apart. Not by choice, not always. Some souls simply cannot connect as others do. They walk alone, whether by fate or design."
"Subservient Souls bend to the will of others. Not out of weakness, but out of a deep-rooted need to serve, to follow, to devote themselves utterly."
The list went on—Lawbringer Souls, those bound to order and justice. Caretaker Souls, who nurture and guide. Dormant Souls, waiting to awaken. Rebellious Souls, who refuse chains of any kind. Hidden Souls, veiled, secret, obscured even from themselves.
And more.
Each name painted an image in my mind, a glimpse of what people could be, of what souls could become.
Finally, Lucian closed the book. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the distant tolling of the chapel bell.
I sat in thought, turning everything over in my mind.
Souls weren't just some unseen concept. They weren't just energy or belief. They were real. Structured. Defined. A foundation upon which all life was built.
And if that foundation cracked?
I exhaled slowly.
I had much to learn.
---
I lay on the stiff mattress, staring at the ceiling of my small chamber. The candle beside me flickered, casting shifting shadows against the stone walls. My mind, however, was far from rest.
The souls… their meanings… their implications.
Radiant Souls—those who shone like beacons, bringing light to the world, but at risk of burning too brightly.
Corrupted Souls—twisted by fate or will, leaving ruin in their wake.
Eternal Souls—refusing to fade, lingering beyond death.
Feral Souls—driven by raw instinct, untamed and wild.
Dominion Souls—commanding, shaping the world through sheer force of will.
Malignant Souls—destroying for destruction's sake, feeding on suffering.
Withered Souls—drained, fading, lacking the strength to sustain themselves.
Fragmented Souls—broken, incomplete, missing pieces of their essence.
Warrior's Souls—born for battle, thriving in struggle.
Loner's Souls—detached, walking paths apart from others.
Subservient Souls—bound to serve, not out of weakness, but out of deep devotion.
Lawbringer Souls—upholding order, enforcing balance.
Caretaker Souls—nurturing, guiding, protecting.
Dormant Souls—waiting, their potential sealed away.
Rebellious Souls—rejecting control, resisting fate itself.
Hidden Souls—veiled, unknown, even to themselves.
Gentle Souls—soft, comforting, their presence soothing others.
Pure Souls—untainted, innocent, untouched by corruption.
Ascended Souls—reaching for something greater, seeking enlightenment.
Void Souls—empty, hollow, unreadable.
Grieving Souls—burdened by sorrow, carrying the weight of loss.
Shifting Souls—unstable, changing, never fixed.
Suffocated Souls—trapped, unable to breathe, unable to be free.
Chaotic Souls—erratic, unpredictable, forces of disruption.
Shrouded Souls—concealed, hidden in darkness, unseen.
I turned onto my side, my thoughts swirling.
Father Lucian had spoken of understanding before learning more. That knowledge was tied to the soul itself. That knowing things beyond one's comprehension could lead to destruction.
Could a soul change?
Could one become another?
Could a soul… break?
I exhaled softly. My mind was full, yet knew this was only the beginning.
I needed to understand more.
As my thoughts settled, a question surfaced in my mind.
What kind of soul did I have?
I replayed everything Father Lucian had taught me, the countless types of souls, each with their own nature, their own fate. I was not ignorant—I knew that a person's soul shaped their path. Some were born warriors, others caretakers. Some sought order, others sought freedom.
If I could choose, which would I be?
A Radiant Soul? No. I was no guiding light, no beacon to others. I had always been reserved, lost in thought rather than standing at the forefront.
A Dominion Soul? That didn't fit either. I had no interest in ruling or shaping the world through force.
A Loner's Soul? Perhaps. I had always been introspective, withdrawn. But I wasn't completely isolated. I still sought understanding, connection, even if in my own way.
A Hidden Soul? The thought lingered. A soul that even the owner did not fully know. Could that be me?
Or…
I let out a slow breath.
A Fragmented Soul?
The idea unsettled me. A soul that was incomplete, missing pieces. Something broken. But was that not what I felt? I had memories of another life, knowledge that did not belong here, yet I did not know where I truly stood. My past and present were disjointed, and the future remained uncertain.
If I was fragmented… could I ever become whole?
I closed my eyes, letting the weight of that thought settle over me.
Tomorrow, I would continue learning.
For now, I would rest.
---
Morning came as it always did, the golden light of dawn filtering through the small window of my room. The wooden floor beneath me creaked softly as I sat up, my body moving through the motions of routine before my mind fully awakened.
The scent of fresh bread and warm broth lingered in the air when I stepped into the main hall of the church.
Sister Elara was already tending to the altar, murmuring quiet prayers in Hubrien, while Father Lucian sat at one of the wooden benches, skimming through an aged tome.
After a simple breakfast, I resumed my duties—organizing the records, checking the bodies that had been stored for purification, and ensuring that none showed signs of potential undead.
Clack, clack.
The sound of a staff tapping against stone echoed as Father Lucian approached. He watched me for a moment before speaking.
"You ponder much, yet you ask little," he said, his voice calm yet perceptive.
I hesitated before answering. "I prefer to listen first."
He gave a knowing nod. "And yet, your thoughts are restless. Speak."
I took a breath. "How does one know what kind of soul someone has?"
Lucian leaned against the nearest pillar, his gaze thoughtful. "To truly know a soul is not simple. It is not written upon a person's face, nor can it be read like a book."
He gestured to the villagers outside, some tending to market stalls, others passing by in quiet conversation. "You must observe. A person's actions, their desires, their fears—they all whisper the nature of their soul."
I frowned slightly. "So there is no definite way?"
"There is," Lucian admitted. "But it requires something rare—eyes that can perceive one's world. Some are born with such sight, others gain it through trials or divine favor. With it, a soul's nature is revealed, its essence laid bare."
I absorbed his words, considering their implications. "So one must either watch and understand… or be granted the ability to see beyond what is natural."
"Precisely." Lucian studied me, his eyes reflecting a wisdom earned through years of experience. "And what do you seek to know?"
I looked down, pondering. "My own soul."
He chuckled softly. "Then observe yourself as you would another. In time, the answer will come."
I nodded, though my thoughts were far from settled. I would continue to learn, to watch, to understand. If souls dictated one's fate, then knowing my own was the first step toward shaping mine.