Chapter 33 Spiritual Unknowns

“You are not worthy–yet.”

–It was a cold, feminine voice.

With those words, he felt the strength in his body sapped, convulsing for a brief moment as if an electric shock had just surged within his body. In a single blink of his eyes, the mystical scenery was ripped from him.

“Wha–?!”

He jumped, startled by the jarring shift as he was standing on grimy steps. The sudden change in setting made him stumble as he rolled down the stairs with a harsh tumble.

“Ghh–!”

Wincing, he landed on the floor, slowly looking up after a moment of hugging his own body as he saw the opened cellar downs behind him, giving the only semblance of light in the form of the moon’s shine.

…I’m in the cellar? What happened? He thought.

Sitting there in the darkness for a minute, all that rang in his mind were those words spoken from a mysterious source: “You’re not worthy–yet.”

What’s that mean…? I didn’t hear anything about requirements…Did I miss a page? He thought.

As he picked himself up, he left the cellar, almost leaving in his exhausted state before noticing the blood-written seal drawn on the wood.

“–“

As not to leave any proof of what he did, he washed it away with a simple dousing spell before reentering the house, sitting on the steps as he brought his own fingertips near the gash on his palm.

“Healing.”

The soft green light appeared, slowly mending his flesh as the cut closed and the blood that stained his pale skin evaporated.

“…Phew…” He sighed out.

After an eventful experience like that, he brought himself into his room and flopped into bed without any further thought.

“…Ngh…”

That night, the dreams he experienced were off another level; they were vibrant, disjointed, and terrifying. In the span of one night, he experienced what felt like a hundred dreams, all conjoined and continuous, yet with no seeming connection.

This continued for the next week; his lessons with Celly continued, but he didn’t make any mention of the crossing of the Astral Realm.

Every night, the plethora of disjointed dreams would play. It began to wear him down as he would try to avoid sleeping for as long as he could–simply laying in bed with his eyes to the wall, but eventually, he would always relinquish himself to slumber.

“…Unworthy…”

“You’re not from here.”

“Who?”

–All voices were different; scattered within his mind, some close, some far–muffled, clear, raspy, elegant–it was a feverish night until:

He saw it.

There was one dream that stood out among them; it reoccurs every night.

Alone in a land that was pale-white; the world was bleached over–hollow and decimated. Each time, his vision would vibrate once he looked up to see the singular entity that existed in the snow-white dreamscape.

It was a faceless man who faced his way, but every time their eyes would meet–he’d wake up.

What is that? Who is that? He questioned.

Among the endless dreams, it was the only dream that was clear; it was so clear in fact that each time he felt it, to him it felt like reality–the taste of fumes in the air, how the desolated winds carried the bleached ashes of the world by his body–it all felt real.

To him, it felt like some sort of message.

…Is it trying to tell me something? I don’t understand any of this, he thought.

–

“Are you feeling alright, Emilio?”

On a tranquil day in the luscious fields behind his home, Celly posed her question with a concerned look.

They were practicing his control over intermediate-class water spells that day, but he was hardly focused; sweat clung to his skin and bags hung under his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine…I just didn’t sleep well last night,” he said with a forced smile.

“–” Celly gave him a worried look before seeming to accept his answer.

Though they continued for a bit longer, it was clear he was hardly holding the proper mindset as the water formations he conjured were uneven and fell apart after mere moments.

“Let’s call it a day, alright?” Celly looked down at him with a reassuring smile.

“…Alright.”

It wasn’t just Celly that noticed; his appetite had dwindled, which was a surefire way to make his mother worry.

“Hey, wanna spar!…Emilio?”

Julius, as full of energy and vigor as always, tried his best to get him to clash swords with him, but he wasn’t up for it.

“…Maybe some other time,” he told Julius with a smile.

Irene took notice, and she was the one who sought to help him the most during this time of silent trouble.

She began to comfort him at night; they didn’t exchange any words, but at some point she began holding his hand while he was in the rampant, successive dreams.

–

Finally, he decided to open “The Astral Teachings” once again to check if there was anything written about these mind-numbing nights he’d been experiencing. He was reluctant at first to return his eyes to the book.

It feels like if I look at it again…I’m inviting those dreams back directly. But, enough is enough, he thought.

Finally, he came across something that resonated with his troubles–it was buried much further into the book:

[Torvald XXV: ‘It will not cease now. Days are interlinked now; the week before and the week to come are conjoined. I’ve experienced it over and over and over and over: I’ve named it “The Soul Strain.” It’s simple. It’s something that should’ve been obvious. As mortal beings, alive and tethered to flesh, the Astral Realm is the polar opposite to our condition. There is something about it…the more often you traverse the two realms, the longer you stay in the Astral world–the more your soul unravels, allowing things inside of it that should not be permitted entry. Listen to me now, do not repeat the same mistake I have: stay away from the Astral Realm. If you’re experiencing the “Soul Strain” now, stop while you can. It can subside, however–there is a point of no return.”

It was harrowing to read, and even more so, the once abominable, wise words of Torvald now seemed weakened and defeated in this later text.

What he discovered from glances through the next pages was just what the “Soul Strain” seemed to be, or at least what it was doing to him.

…”The Cries of The Days To Come”; usually we’re ignorant to the pleas of spirits, but while under the effects of the “Soul Strain”, we can hear those cries. That’s what this is?…So, the spirits are trying to show me something? Is it a warning? He questioned.