Cetas woke up to the sight of the Historian's weary face. Donning casual clothing, the Historian adjusted his glasses and examined Cetas' status carefully.
He was back in the bathroom, in front of the mirror where the peculiarity first occurred. Cetas was sprawled on the floor, feeling the coldness of its damp nature.
Somehow, it reminded him of the black fluid.
"How do you feel?," with words belonging to an old man, the Historian asked out of concern. In his mind, the shivering sight of the Prophet of Perfection was reflected.
Speaking in Heliosian, Cetas replied:
"...my head is splitting apart."
Cetas carefully caressed his temples.
The Historian leaned closer and assisted Cetas, "Get up slowly, you should rest on a soft surface. I'll get the doctor to assist you, these weary bones of mine cannot handle any physical strain."
The Historian strolled out of the bathroom with a steady and upright pace. After a few seconds, he came back along with the doctor, Jones.
Shaking his head, Jones commented on the situation, "By heavens, why does this occur frequently?"
He shook his head, bent down, and carried Cetas by his knee and back. Then, in a few moments, they made their way to Cetas' sleeping chambers. He then set Cetas down a soft bed, carefully adjusting his head so as to not make it exerted to pain.
Jones scratched his head, and shifted his head towards the Historian, "I shall leave you to it.."
The Historian walked towards Cetas' slow pace. Then, upon sitting down beside his bed, he began to speak.
"I apologize for the situation that you have been exposed to. I, too, did not expect that kind of predicament."
Laying down in a straight position, Cetas replied, "..what was that place? It seemed similar to this farm yet quite the contrary.."
The Historian adjusted his glasses.
"What did you see?"
"I saw... crops of corn and wheat bent over at a peculiar angle, forming a perfectly lined shape. Then, there were maggots eating away at the plants, emanating a black fluid. Soon, as I went deeper into the maze of corn and wheat, I saw seed-like cocoons of black, almost similar to the maggots. I saw that once they fell onto the dampened soil, they would undergo metamorphosis and turn into pitch-black butterflies...
Cetas recalled the events that occurred and told them to the Historian in a careful tone, trying to remember the facts.
"..I see.", the Historian shifted his head towards the edge of the room, "What you've seen is not of any normal occurrence. I cannot disclose these information to you now as they will make you succumb to losing control. Even though your Zeal is faint, you would be taken over by it."
On the topic of Zeal, the Historian closed his right eye and gazed upon Cetas' Zeal in order to determine if it was corrupted somehow..
Suddenly, his eyes widened!
"You!"
He quickly leaned closer, not believing what he was seeing in his eyes.
"Child.. your Zeal!"
Cetas was bumfuzzled, he clearly didn't know what was going on and the Historian's sudden weird behavior slightly made his body tremble.
Adjusting his glasses, the Historian leaned back and calmed his nerves. In a second, he raised his surprise to Cetas.
"Child, your Zeal has been unlocked..."
Cetas did not know what that meant yet, but he deemed it important due to the Historian's sudden actions. However, he still could not conclude as to why he overreacted..
Unfamiliar with the concept of Zeal, Cetas did not know what to do..
"Reaching within yourself and unlocking your Zeal is supposed to be achievable within months, even a year or two!"
The Historian brought his thumb under his chin, "Truly a peculiarity.."
I've unlocked my Zeal? Did being in that blackscape somehow aid in my existence reaching for it? Cetas contemplated, clearly confused too.
He tried searching from within himself, reaching for the Zeal within, yet Cetas did not know how. It was as if his Zeal was forcefully unlocked, leaving him with no lessons nor guidance to manage it.
Still with his right eye closed, the Historian mentioned, "Did you try reaching for your Zeal? Difficult isn't it? Especially when you haven't spent the time managing nor trying to reach for it."
Harnessing one's Zeal took months or longer based on the individual's capabilities. It was due to the fact that one needed to understand the concept of Zeal within themselves and try to reach it manually.
Thus, after spending a long time to guide their individual-selves to the pathway of a Zealot, only then would they be able to harness their Zeal and unlock their first Origin!
Forcibly unlocking one's Zeal wasn't at all possible in any way! Even the Historian is foreign to this knowledge!
So, Cetas did not know what to do..
"I did, but I do not know how.."
The Historian leaned back on his chair, and pondered silently. In a few seconds, he came up with an answer.
"Even though I do not know of this information, this truly is a conundrum. I have deduced that even though your Zeal has been unlocked, you must still go through the proper methods of unlocking one's Zeal. Therefore, you must learn to understand it, reach for it, and manage it. Only then will you truly find your potential deep within."
Cetas mumbled slowly, "Months.."
He then pondered about his future. Would I remain on the surface for months? By then, I could be accustomed to the surface-dwellers culture and language, I will be completely different - further away from my home. Someday.. I will return.
By then.. would I be the same? Would returning back to my home bring back my memories, and if it did.. would I change once more? Would I be akin to that of the seed-like cocoons - undergoing metamorphosis and change for the better?
If I return to the depths, would my friends or family remember me as the same and usual Cetas? Do I even have friends and family? The future holds mystery, yet I will unravel its strings.
Once I tread upon the path of a Zealot, I can never turn back..
Holding a firm resolve, Cetas nodded and slowly let out his breath.
"I understand. If I may ask you... Do you think I can return back to my home?"
"Your home..", the Historian gave a warm smile and looked at Cetas' eyes, "You can. No.. You will."
Cetas stood up slowly, carefully bringing his upper body straight. Then, he gestured a bow and spoke in the language of depth-dwellers, "Thank you.."
The Historian reciprocated his actions and copied his gesture.
In the language of Heliosian, he spoke with gratitude in his tone:
"It is in my utmost pleasure.."
After that exchange, the Historian straightened his body and asked, "Do you have any questions regarding the blackscape you saw?"
Racking his mind, Cetas inquired about the existence of the maggots, seed-like cocoons, the black butterflies, and the dampened soil.
"Those are what you already know as a Dreadspawn. Although they are only of the lowest level - Spark - they are quite the problem when grouped together. Usually, the maggots and cocoons are harmless, but once they've evolved to a butterfly, they can exude a black liquid."
"Similarly, these creatures belong to a single individual whose name I cannot utter to you as of right now. However, its title is the Prophet of Perfection, a being that has mastered its Zeal."
"You mentioned the perfectly angled crops and your reflection having the same angle right? Those are the results of Perfection. That being can turn anything into Perfection."
"You may be wondering as to why bug-like Dreadspawns belong to the Prophet of Perfection. Well, it is quite complex. That being thinks that evolution is akin to that of Perfection. It thinks that it is only through constant evolution that one can reach the pinnacle of life - of Zeal. Although a true perfect being does not exist in the world, it believes that once one has evolved enough and gone through several stages of metamorphosis, then one can ultimately become Perfection."
"A maggot can evolve into a cocoon, a cocoon will turn into a butterfly, a butterfly will contort and turn into something gruesome, and that evolution will turn to another, and evolve into a being better than the last.."
"It is a constant state of evolution, a never-ending cycle where Perfection is the end goal. I did think once in my life that Perfection would never be achieved by that being, however as time passes I begin to doubt my own belief."
"Perhaps Perfection is achievable after all.. Or perhaps it is only a false truth."
Somewhere deep into the eyes of the Historian, it held a sense of longing and melancholy. Cetas captured this small detail and felt that the Historian and the Prophet of Perfection had some sort of connection.
Even though he did not see what the Prophet of Perfection looked like, he imagined the being to be beautiful - without any flaws.
"You have to be very careful, child. The Prophet of Perfection holds no flaws, those black bugs that you saw are anywhere and everywhere."
Cetas recalled the Lightless Moth of the Depths.
Was that part of the Prophet of Perfection's creations?
Perhaps so.
If Cetas were to look back and gaze upon the Dreadspawn in the Depths, then he would know. Alas, he did not have an opportunity to do so..
After hearing the Historian's words, Cetas asked another question.
"What is this place?"