Journal of Fire: Embers

Chapter 3, The Change

Journal of Fire Entry 2 (Atrein Diablon)

Year 0 A.D., The First Day of Winter

Krotrean, Ertore

In the center of my chest, I felt several straps coming undone simultaneously. I felt tension intensifying and releasing dozens of times. I gasped when I looked down, for I could suddenly see the straps with my right eye. After staring at them for several seconds, I realized what was truly happening. These weren't straps. They were strands of a soul seal that was rapidly deteriorating.

After each was released, I recoiled in pain, but half a second later, an enthralling rush of soul hit my bloodstream. It felt like drinking a cold glass of water on a sweltering summer day. I began to shake as a tremendous feeling of power rose from within me and circulated throughout my body. As hundreds of the minuscule strands snapped, I saw that they were constructed of dense yellow soul and wholly covered my aorta.

My mind raced to determine the purpose of the seal as it continued to break apart. Suddenly, a series of strands at the edge of the beginning of my aortic artery snapped, and I fell to one knee from the recoil. Despite the awful pain, I kept my right eye open to observe. After the wave of pain washed away, the most powerful sensation of euphoria hit me while I watched in wonder as purple orbs of soul bubbled into my bloodstream.

Though I knew I possessed large amounts of soul, this was the first time I had seen its color. A tear fell from my right eye. It was from both the intense pain and the beauty of the orbs. My soul's color was an unfathomably wild purple. It shifted hues dozens of times per second, but its primary color was a light, hazy purple with strands of a darker purple stringing through it. Despite being able to sense the presence of soul since my earliest memories, I was at a loss for what I was experiencing now. Of course, I recognized the pattern.

At certain ages, my powers had grown, but no age had resulted in changes as drastic as my 21st birthday. In my early childhood, I could only smell soul. The potency of the odor reflected the power of the soul, and the scent revealed the god the soul followed. For example, the men and women of Ertore, who all follow the god Arterion, had souls that smelled of iron. Then when I turned 18, I began to see the color of souls. Though it was an impressive sight, it became bland as the years passed. Every soul I saw was the same as that of Arterion: red. Therefore, I was confused and excited by the color of my soul, for I had always assumed my soul would be red.

When I rose to my feet, I noticed that my world had morphed further from normality. Through my right eye, I saw small amounts of red soul leaking out from every man and woman who marched with me towards The Line. The souls of those around me were also no longer the same shade of red. There was a beautiful assortment of thousands of tiny, red bubbles of soul floating upwards through the city's sky. All the soul was being drawn towards the top of the city's holiest site, the spire of the Grand Temple of Krotrean.

The soul was vacuumed through an inverted funnel of red soul. After only a few seconds of thinking, I recoiled. It was horrifying. When broken down, the implications were astonishing. The souls of those within the city were being drained and harvested. The number of beads and bubbles of red that floated upwards just from workers making their way to work was uncountable. I concluded that this was some form of taxation that Arterion drew as payment for his protection. I sensed the power that dwelled inside the funnel for the first time, and my face grew pale. Despite not knowing how much soul I possessed, I knew that the being known as Arterion was powerful beyond what words could describe.

Just as I had rid my mind of thoughts regarding Arterion, I rejoined the traffic and reached the top of Langston Hill, the last stretch of Krotrean before one arrived at The Line. From there, I viewed all the traps, trenches, roads, towers, and war machines that filled the once grassy seven miles of the open plain. Steam from spells and the rapid respirations of the men and women below belched upwards; however, there was more to it this time.