Reborn From the Cosmos

Arc 8-01

My childhood is defined by the things we didn’t have. Or rather, I define it so. For some reason, the negative memories, recalling that which I never had or was taken from me, is so much easier than thinking of happier times. Summoning was an escape but a rare one, as Father was always more concerned with entertaining himself. Every day was a hunt for something more stimulating than watching ants crawl.

I think that’s why I treated my tutor so badly. For some reason, my mind wants to ponder their frustrated scowls and stiff backs as they were dismissed from the estate. Young Lou didn’t think of the poor bastards losing their jobs as anything more than the source of a few snickers, listening with an ear pressed to Father’s study to eavesdrop on their desperate attempts to remained employed.

Being older and having spent time amongst commoners, I realize that I might have ruined a few lives with my antics. There aren’t a lot of opportunities in the middle of the country. The meagre pay my father offered very likely meant far more to them than a little extra coin on the side; I wouldn’t be surprised if their employment was the difference between their families having a comfortable winter or rationing every crumb of bread.

I took that from them and I enjoyed it.

Not the part where I hurt them. It was the feeling of putting my hand on the scale and tilting it. I set out to destroy them because I could, because it was a goal I could accomplish. Didn’t matter if it was right or wrong. I never thought of the consequences. All that mattered is the moment, the visceral joy of changing my little slice of the world to my whims.

Unsurprisingly, the tutor that lasted the longest was the least fun; an old crown with pockmarked, saggy skin and dark eyes that picked me apart in moments like a carrion-eater expertly stripping meat from a corpse. Saints, I don’t even remember her name but I remember the screech of wood as she dragged her favorite chair to wherever the lesson was being held. She always started professionally, announcing the lesson of the day and trying to impart her wisdom, but the moment I displayed my usual contempt, she met it with seasoned apathy. Sometimes, she rambled about her life and sometimes she spoke about nothing at all. Didn’t matter if I tried to interrupt her or make things difficult.

Once, I asked her why she never got angry like all the others. Her response is what I remember most about her. She told me that if I didn’t want to learn from her, life would teach me.

I wonder what I was supposed to learn from Quest.

I wonder what the people of Quest were supposed to learn from me.

“Wake.”

My eyes flutter open at the soft command and instinctively find the gaze of the one who utters it. These days, the appearance of my father-in-law isn’t quite so intimidating. Oh, he’s still the same broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, small hill of a man that looks like he grew up eating the meat of the bears he slaughtered with his bare hands, but experience has stripped him of his natural intimidation. He’s so opposite of Morgene, I struggle to understand how they’ve made a union work for so many years. There hasn’t been a harsh word or spark of violence between us since the night of our “duel” and even that was closer to training than anything else. He goes out of his way to be pleasant, greeting me every morning and wishing me a pleasant night.

The cost of this peace? An hour walk after breakfast through the shattered city.

I thought the request was strange when he made it. Still think it’s strange, but it’s hardly a burden. We walk for a while until he finds a spot that he likes, sit for a spell, and then we return. It’s been ten days since we’ve started our routine and I still haven’t grasped his reasoning, if there even is any.

“Are you ready to return?” he asks, just as he does every morning. As if I would want to linger amongst the destruction.

“Yeah.”

He nods and begins the walk back.

“Why do you want to do this?”

“For peace.”

Another answer again. The previous time I asked, he said it was for sun. The time for that, it was for the breeze. Is it a game? I’m doubtful, as he doesn’t strike me as the playful type, but I can’t think of another explanation.

On the first day, the silence was unbearable. I couldn’t go three breaths before I had to fill it with inane mutterings, searching for some shared understanding. Instead, I got grunts and one-syllable words. Sometimes, he’ll open up a bit when it comes to his beloved daughter, but, as a whole, my father-in-law is the quiet type.

Ten times doing this, the mountain-like silence is as light as a feather. The estate has gotten noisy these days. I don’t hate it, a little chaos is much better than the empty home I grew up in, but it can get a little overbearing. Overwhelming. Having this moment every day, where the chaos can’t exist, where there’s nothing to worry about but my own nostalgia, is…nice.

Surprisingly, Orum is the next one to break the silence. “What is your favorite color?”

“What?”

“The color you like most.”

“No, I understood the question but…why?”

“You do not have to answer.”

“Hey, I didn’t say I wouldn’t answer. Purple, I suppose.”

“Colors are not words. They are things.”

“Um…”

“You must have seen purple to admire it.”

Ah. He’s asking why I like it. Or maybe for a better description? Either way… “The purple that borders on deep blue, the color of twilight.” That’s the color of my divine father and my oozy self.

“A creature’s preferences reveal its mind. Take the deer. It eats of the forest but what it eats reveals its soul, that which separates it from its flesh. The calm deer grazes on grass, following in the footsteps of its predecessors. The gourmand tastes every flavor the forest has to offer. The deviant breaks the cycle and feasts on flesh with the predators.”

…alright then.

“Have you ever questioned why you admire the color you do?”

“No? Does something like that have a reason?”

“Everything has a reason. The only question is if we’ve taken the time to look inside ourselves to find the answer.”

This is a ridiculous conversation but it’s rare for him to reach out. I suppose I should humor him. “Well, I’d like to answer you, but I have no idea why I like it or how to ‘look into myself’, as you say.”

“You learn of yourself the same way you learn of anything else, through questions. What does the color make you think of? Do not think hard. The answer will be as apparent as your preference.”

“…power, I suppose.” I think of Cosmo’s monstrous coefficient and my seven affinities. Whatever he is, whatever we are, we’re magic. And magic is power.

“Why do you desire power?”

“I don’t desire power. I mean, I guess I did once. And now that I have it, I’m glad for it, but that’s it. It’s not like I’m chasing it.”

“Then what are you chasing?”

“Peace.”

“Then you’ve found it.”

“More of it. I just want to be left alone with my family.” Is that too much to ask?

“All things are connected, and they act upon each other. The sun warms the earth, which allows the grass to grow. The grass feeds the rabbit. The rabbit feeds the wolf. The wolf grows big enough to challenge the farmer for his sheep. To simply blame the animal is foolish. So is the thought that one can disconnect themselves from the web of life.”

“So…you’re telling me to give up.”

“Wisdom is not knowing the solution to every problem but knowing that which is within your power and that which is not.”

“Wait a minute. Weren’t we talking about colors?”

“We cannot control life, but we can choose how we interact with it. The wolf hounds the farmer but how he responds is his choice. Most will chase it off. Some will kill it. Sometime ago, a farmer chose to tame the beast, defying impossibility and creating the dog, something new.”

I’m so lost.

“Er, I like dogs?”

He turns to me, his dark green eyes half of my favorite pair. “That which is connected is one. Does that make sense?”

“Sure…”

“We are connected to the world; therefore, we are the world and the world is us.”

He’s losing me but I bob my head in agreement regardless. Saints, this has taken a strange turn.

“Everything is the world, from the worm, to the dog, to the people. Every life matters. Every action matters. You are more than yourself. You are everyone. You are everything.”

A surge of annoyance turns down the corners of my mouth. “That’s stupid.”

“How?”

Is he really asking me that? “Maybe things are connected but they’re different. Certain actions are more impactful than others. And certain lives have more value.” That’s the entire point of a hierarchy.

“Then what separates them?”

“Blessed saints, a hundred different things.”

“Pick three.”

I come to a stop, unable to think and walk while coping with my growing discomfort with the conversation. He follows, turning to face me. “What separates people?”

“If that is what you want to answer.”

Three things that separate commoners from nobles, huh. “Money. Status. Privilege.”

“And what do those things have in common?”

Noble blood…or I suppose not. The Tomes are nobles and we have none of those things. What can get a person all three then? I can think of a few things but only one where it’s guaranteed, without taking into any other circumstances. The one thing that can never be denied.

“…power.” My answer feels like I’ve stepped into a trap, but I don’t know why.

The feeling intensifies as Orum smiles. “Power gives things meaning. You desire power.”

“What are we even talking about?”

“Perhaps you should think on it tomorrow, should you choose to join me again.”

With that, he continues walking, leaving me no choice but to follow.