The vast fields were much quieter during the day than at night.
Golden grass stretched into the horizons so far that it boggled the mind. Even his mighty perception could see little more than a yellow blur near the end of the distant horizons. There were monsters, too. Many hid in the tall growth, but plenty were soaring through the skies, be they ordinary animals or monsters with stars glowing in the depths of their souls.
Airborne predators dipped into the yellow fields in search of prey, and grounded hunters leaped like fish out of the ocean, snatching those above in their giant maws filled with sharp teeth.
A man stood there with his arms crossed behind his back and a frown seared permanently into his expression. He wore red robes accented with thick violet string, and his long, messy white hair partially covered his pale face, which was drawn in neat, red lines leading from his eyes and branching down his cheeks. His pale, ghoulish eyes shone with a piercing light.
Standing confidently and eyeing the horizons, he pondered his discovery. After over a day of scouting, he had gathered enough evidence.
A zero-step passage to realm C-000421 had appeared.
This was merely one of many entrances to the horrid, perilous realm spanning the area of many earths, but it was the first to have appeared with a direct connection to New Earth. A sigh escaped his lips, but as it faded, like a depressed sun piercing through a pitch-black sky, a tentative non-frown appeared on his face. That was the closest to a pleased expression he had made in many years.
Things were moving. There would be much conflict. But his clan was perfectly positioned to profit from the chaos that was to come.
A sizable serpentine monster slithered nearby, carefully approaching his position. His wrists opened, and his blood formed jagged blades that rushed at the creature, tearing its body to shreds before it could react.
Well then. It was time to share his discovery with those waiting for the update.
The passage itself had already been reinforced with a heavy metallic door, and he simply put a thumb to a small surface to make it open. The instant the barrier rose, he met with the numerous messengers cramped into the tight alley, waiting to confirm the news.
After a long, intentional pause, he merely nodded. The crowd almost instantly dispersed, the sounds of communication crystals buzzing to life and footsteps rushing to disclose the information to whomever had sent them here.
With measured, unrushed steps, he walked over to a nearby tent. It occupied the entire street. The citizens had all been thoroughly compensated for the inconvenience, but at this point, the entire area had already been evacuated.
The moment he pushed the cloth aside and entered the tent, he faced a bastard he didn't want to see.
"Janhalar, lovely to see you here!" greeted the cheerful man dressed in casual streetwear. He had jet-black hair and serpentine eyes as dark as the void itself. His clear, jovial, handsome face had light marks showing his tendency to force smiles upon his face.
All the man got in return was a curt grunt and a spiteful glance. He deserved even less.
"Come on, bro," the man said, rushing to get in front of him. "Not even a hug!?" he asked with mock offense in his gaze, his snake-like eyes closing into menacing slits.
There was no such thing as a leader of the 25th district. But this man was the closest thing it had to an owner. And it wasn't just the district. He was the lord of the entire city of Pittersville.
As they were technically equal in the empire's hierarchy, dismissing him completely was entirely within Janhalar's rights, but he was in a relatively good mood today, so he would at least greet the man. "Hello," he said, and absolutely nothing else.
After a short, stunned pause, the man broke into cheerful laughter. "Oh, man, you're as talkative as the last time I met you," he said, wiping a small tear from his eye.
"Why are you here?" Janhalar asked directly.
The city lord seemed offended by that question. "Am I not allowed to thank you in person for your favor?"
"If possible, yes," Janhalar said. "I'd like to forbid you from doing so. I'm here to receive my payment. I have no patience for your games."
"Don't be like that, man!" he said with a small sigh of disappointment. Suddenly, his posture shifted. "So... you've confirmed it?"
Janhalar nodded, glad to finally get the business out of the way. "Indeed."
The city lord simply shrugged in response. "Well..." he started with a sly grin. "I don't know about you, but," he said, clearly pleased, "I'm feeling rather excited."
Janhalar nodded again.
"Ah, all right, all right," the lord said. "I can tell you're itching to see the goods. Let's go." He moved out of the way, revealing the room full of objects, all neatly arranged in display cases.
He glared at the man, observing him carefully for any cracks that might appear.
The lord simply rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, you grump. I didn't touch anything."
There was no way he would believe that. But if he had dared to so much as touch anything with his nasty fingers, he wouldn't be able to hide it. So he simply moved past the man and walked into the room.
Everything was covered in dried blood, some items more than others. Clothes stripped from dead victims, lowly weapons, jewelry, or other miscellaneous objects used for self-defense—they all possessed a quality that couldn't be artificially replicated.
They carried upon them blood spilled in tragedy and, more specifically, slaughter directly caused by the appearance of a passage.
While he could tell from a glance that many of them radiated power, soaked in blood and wrath, a more direct look would give him a better view. So he closed his eyes.
Instantly, they shot back open as he rushed toward a particular stand. Moments later, he held what appeared to be an ordinary plastic bag. A smelly, dried, brown substance was on it, and it wasn't blood. But what the object was or what it was covered in wasn't important. What he had seen in the Netherecho was.
With an angry scowl, he turned around and spat, "Harold!"
The casually dressed man cocked his head. "What's wrong? Ah, I saw that. Pretty crazy, that—"
"Where is it!?" He rushed at the man, holding the torn bag like a lunatic. "Did you think I wouldn't notice!?"
"Whoa there, calm down..." Harold said, eyes growing colder. "We wouldn't be throwing any unfounded accusations around now, would we?"
This time, he entered expecting to see the same thing. And there it was.
His first star.
There was no actual size in one's inner ethercosm. This was only a matter of perspective. With some focus, he pulled back, distancing himself to get a better view.
Yeah... that makes a lot more sense.
While observing the entirety of the ethercosm—the manifested projection of his soul—it was utterly empty. Darkness was almost all he could see in the weird space within, and the overbearing star looked like nothing more than a speck of dust, to the point that if he lost focus, it took him a while to find it again.
Focusing on the star once more, he appeared before the grand object. It truly felt enormous, slowly roiling with wild energy. He felt giddy looking at it.
Holy crap, I have a goddamn star in my soul!
If he had a voice, he would be cackling merrily in joy.
The still-unattuned star was stark white, glowing with an iridescent purity that only raw ether could display. While this sounded like something special, in reality, all it meant was that his essence was useless. This glorious object could be compared to an empty cup. Now, he had to fill it with water.
He kicked his consciousness back out, finding his body covered in sweat, shivering slightly. That was quite an unusual experience, but he had to get used to it. From then on, it would become a part of his life.
Taking a deep breath, he once again calmed himself. What he was about to do now was considerably more difficult. And very dangerous. His hesitation was perfectly justified. Even the book had recommended seeking therapy if he couldn't cope with what he was about to see. But that was enough stalling.
Once again, he calmed himself and appeared within his ethercosm. Then, with some focus, he imagined a door. It didn't strictly need to be a door, but he had to focus on anything he closely related to the concept of an "exit." It took some work, but a regular wooden door soon appeared before him.
There was no body with which he could grab the handle, but there was no need to do that. Leaving the first time only required an imaginary exit and the intent to move through it. So he imagined precisely that—and stepped out into the Netherecho.
He was surrounded by what he could only describe as a rainbow fog painted onto reality by broad brush strokes. As the mist gradually dissipated, or, instead, as it was erased, an object was revealed to his side.
It looked like a massive mannequin lying down on a surface. It also appeared as if it were painted on, and it wasn't long until he realized what he was looking at. That was no mannequin. That was his body.
And it wasn't huge. Instead, he was tiny. Taking a look down, he observed the projection he found himself in. He couldn't see his face, naturally, but he appeared to be wearing a cyan dress or robes.
This was the Netherecho—a deeper layer of reality that only existed in truths and concepts and could only be accessed by projecting one's soul. All objects within appeared like a cartoonified caricature of their real-world equivalent. But that wasn't all that could be found there.
The fog surrounding him continued its decline, and what appeared to be minor, colorful splotches of floating paint remained behind—wisps. They fluttered and shifted, slowly falling or rising, unfettered by air or gravity—neither of which really existed here—and morphing in ways appropriate to their related element.
The projection he was embodying had many similar functions to his actual body, even if they felt strangely exaggerated. And the way it would be for his real body in such a situation, his heart raged wildly, so much so that he could see a cartoony heart shape pushing his robes out.
He stared at the dissipating fog, slowly getting cold feet as it grew increasingly distant. Before long, it would reveal at least one, and rather than run, he decided to stay behind and observe.
The fog reached the ground below his bed, and the head of a creature popped out. "Guys, we gotta hurry!"
Oh fuck that shit! he swore internally.
It looked almost like a cartoony alarm clock, and its entire body was a deep gray. It was pretty small, too, only about perhaps twice the size of his balled-up fist. He tried to convince himself that it wasn't scary, but that didn't change reality. That was a wild vestige. And they could, and often would, get aggressive.
The projection of someone like him was miserably fragile, and if it were destroyed... he would die. What stood less than a meter away from him could quickly turn into a foe, and if it decided to attack, he had but a moment to react and leave before it reached him.
His situation was akin to standing naked before a lion, and the only way to survive its pounce was to react fast enough.
"Secrets... are good. And I'm... the best... at keeping those, yes, very secretive," a voice came from his left, and he turned to face it.
The fog revealed the chest beside his bed, and on it stood another creature. It looked like a shriveled, obese old man with a key hanging on a necklace around his neck.
"I'll break the sun! Just wait, you slithery little glow ball! I'll get you eventually!" Yet another one appeared at his window. It looked like a glass panel with a ray of floating light traveling through it and breaking at the halfway point.
There was some sort of non-descript muttering coming from beneath the bed, and as the rainbow mist finally reached his fridge, it revealed another one standing beside the glass of water. It looked like a transparent orb holding shifting liquid within.
It wept, "Can someone please just kick it out already? Waaaah!"
"Shut up!" the shriveled old man sitting atop his chest yelled. "You will rustle my secrets awake! Scoundrel!"
"Such puny tears will never quench that bastard," the glass panel proclaimed dramatically.
"I think it's time you stop whining!" the alarm screamed hysterically.
"Waaaah!"
None of them appeared aggressive, at least not from this distance. But the book had named enough examples of seemingly docile vestiges abruptly killing someone that he was struggling to gather up the courage to move.
But he had to. He was supposed to find a water wisp and grasp it—the first drop in the glass, basically. It was essential for truly activating his star. But the problem was that the few water wisps he saw flowing through the air were quite far from where he was. He would have to move over and grab them.
His projection's palm sat on the thigh of his body. He eyed one of the closer wisps and prepared himself to grab it. The moment he felt that either one of these vestiges was even a little hostile—
"It-It is you..." a deep, gurgly voice said, interrupting his thoughts.
It was considerably louder than that of any of the vestiges, and as it spoke, all the others turned to face the garbage can.
He wanted to leave with every ounce of his being, but a morbid curiosity made him linger just a bit longer. A decision he sorely regretted as a bloody skeleton thrice the size of any of the vestiges appeared from behind the bin and opened its dripping maw. "You have finally arrived."