To Save a World Ch. 06

Down below, Lydia seemed to be getting into the final act. Her left hand was strongly planted in Aaron's sculpted abdomen, no doubt enjoying the hard swells of his muscles. Her right hand diligently cupped his jewels, kneading the balls gently but firmly, coaxing the heavy orbs to release their charge. Lydia shoved her face into Aaron's rock hard flesh almost violently.

The young man gripped Serche's breasts hard. He grunted animal grunts. The Shaman gasped, helpless. She cringed as much from the slight pain his hands induced as the pleasure it created. Her nipples hardened like jewels in his palm, the sensation seemed to multiply tenfold and became bolts of lightning that went straight to her dripping snatch. And then Aaron groaned something.

"W -- what?" Serche breathed, her golden eyes vacant, swimming in pleasure.

"I want you... In my mouth."

Serche gasped again. Unthinkingly, she contorted her position, bent on providing her master to have what he wanted. It was difficult, but he managed to clamp his mouth on a nipple. Serche felt the violent hotness of his mouth around her sensitive nub. She felt herself leaking, the fluids of her arousal soaking the fur of her inner thigh and dripping down to the folded leg of her kneeling position.

Aaron sucked her nipple uncontrollably hard and made a groaning sound around her tit. A primitive sound of pure satisfaction. His strong body arched, buried his cock into Lydia's willing mouth as deep as it would go. The sight of the young woman fervently gulping down her master's spend shoved Serche off the crest of a tall wave of pleasure that she didn't know she was riding on.

Serche stiffened and came with a melodious cry into the heavens, white noise saturating her senses for several intense moments.

* * *

Trasnu brushed aside the undergrowth and looked upon the small clearing with an amused smirk on his lips. He went to look for his companions after his call for them went unanswered and found the trio in a thoroughly curious state.

Aaron sat on ground. The young man had a look of dazed satisfaction about him, his dopey grin and unfocused eyes were difficult to miss. Lydia fussed with his trousers with the same efficiency and satisfaction as a mother might in taking care of a child. Except she very distinctly patted the bulge of his crotch as she finished. Also, her chin was wet with spittle and something more. Serche, for her part, stood to the side, a little further away from the pair. She had the most interesting reaction by far. She too, fussed with the minimal cloth wrapping of her breasts, but twitchily, like she didn't know what else to do and therefore poured all of herself into the activity. She appeared to take an intense interest in the greenery around her, and thoroughly avoided looking at anywhere near her companions -- and even more so at Trasnu. The prim and proper Rakan Shaman looked wholly bewildered.

Even without their completely transparent reactions, it only took one good sniff of the air for Trasnu to figure out what happened.

"Ah," He voiced, not without satisfaction. "There you three are! I was getting worried, but it turns out you lot are fine. More than fine, if my nose has whiskers." He did not comment about their obvious state, but the grin he was sporting let everyone know that he knew exactly what had transpired.

"Hello, Trasnu!" Lydia greeted enthusiastically, nonchalantly wiping the wetness from her chin away with a simple swipe of her arm. "Did you know? Aaron can use magic!"

* * *

There were exactly four conversations going on in the room that both Sarasswena and L'Asandre occupied.

They filled the room with themselves. If there were other eyes to see, they would glance at Sarasswena's every graceful movement. Even while she lounged on the opulent chair prepared for her, the motions of her body cannot be denied. Every subtle shift of her hips, every delicate movement of her slender wrist, every tilt of her head and every emphatic motion of her formed eyebrows demanded attention. Like a bright flower by the side of the road that you just cannot help but stop to look at. Beautiful from above, but filled with thorns underneath.

If there were other eyes to see, they too would not be able to help but notice L'Asandre Leaguewalker. His was a presence that shone; from his cornfield blonde hair that shone like gold under the sun and his fair, alabaster complexion, to his clear, summer-afternoon-sky eyes, and his shining smile and impeccable demeanor. L'Asandre drew the eyes as naturally as the sparkle of a golden coin draws begging hands.

If there were other eyes to see, they would swing from one person to the other. From Sarasswena to L'Asandre -- from the Illusion to the Leaguewalker. Their very existence in that room was a competition; and because there was no one else to sway over, they naturally competed over the other's attention. This was the first conversation.

The pair talked easily about affairs of their mutual interest, from scandals within the Palace, to happenings in Var Syndal, to curious rumors coming from the Three Circle Republic, or from the Tannian Regency, or from the Eastern Federation. Currently, they were talking about a particularly interesting piece of information about a slaver's caravan that was raided on the road to Timberhouse from Searle.

It was not because slave raids specifically are something new -- indeed in the last hundred years the rather striking idea of equality and liberation have begun to take hold among the mind of the commoners across the Human Realms, and as a result the lands have seen a decrease in slave labor due to an increase of militant action against that particular sector of trade. In fact, both of the Talents idly wondered what in the name of the Old Gods was a slaver caravan doing within the Three Circle anyway; the three city-states are called the Free Lands for a reason.

No, their interest was not aroused because a stupid slaving caravan was raided in the backwoods somewhere; their interest was aroused because apparently a humanoid Night demon with wards etched unto its very body summoned a host of monsters and set upon the group with vengeance, quite easily killing all of the merchandise and destroying a good chunk of the business' capital. The reason? Why, Night demons need not have a reason to plant the seeds of terror.

It was a silly notion, altogether. In their conversation the pair vocally expressed the ludicrousness of such an event, made casual remarks about the intelligence of slaving traders, and bemoaned the state of a populace which proliferates such stupidity. That was the second conversation.

Nevertheless, the third conversation ensured that they were at least sufficiently wary of these rumors. The third conversation was one of implications; of meanings layered below the obvious, of suspicion towards the things in between the lines, of digging for the needle of truth buried amidst haystacks of embellishments and storytelling. And any rumor that has reached the ears of the Talents sitting high above are, after all, worthy of at least a second glance.

When they wondered with their voices about the validity of monsters actually being spotted near the territories of Rollendrel, Sarasswena combed her memory for a mention of such an event among her information network's monthly reports, and L'Asandre checked in his mind any business headed that way so that he may send a missive to his operatives to thoroughly investigate the rumor.

When they denounced the audacity of the rumor about Domil Mightarm's son taking yet another mistress, Sarasswena laughed behind her hand and congratulated herself for a job well done, and L'Asandre reminded himself to stay on the Illusion Talent's good side -- or at least, thought to himself of ways in order not to be caught dallying on her bad side.

And when pair laughingly dismissed the story about the Night demon as something purely out of drunken tavern stories, the both of them still wondered...

Underneath it all lay the heavy acknowledgement of ominous things to come. It was in the empty glint of the gold and silver furnishings of the room, so banal under the morning sun. It lay in the silence that the pair of powerful beings sought to fill with something close to manic fear. It sat weightily on the mysterious, leather-bound book that was on the table in front of them, its very pages seeming to ooze a deep and sinister disturbance, the paper not the parts of an inanimate object but the harbinger of calamity.

The pair's world currently revolved around the ancient tome. Seen with the dark colors of the knowledge that they've uncovered from the Graemoria, their physical competition to capture each other's attention suddenly seemed like a distraction that they immersed themselves with. The discussions they had of beneficial things looked like a desperate denial of things to come, and the implied meaning of their words became what this meeting really was about; a slowly seeping fear, a cry for action.

This was the fourth conversation.

This conversation was what they were really after; the reason for this clandestine meeting. It was a coping mechanism. Their expression of a creeping fear that both powerful creatures were too proud to admit. It was the conversation of two ultimate powers; like two volcanoes sitting side by side, whispering to each other anxiously. Waiting for something, anything, to be an excuse to erupt.

* * *

Aaron Greeves sat on the tops of trees. He could see the stars above him; absolutely glorious swirls of brilliant silver dust set in the infinite blackness of the night sky. The stars did not only twinkle and shine, but seemed to move in hypnotic circular motions, like flakes in the snow globe that was the world. They beckoned to him as only dream stars do.

Ahead of him, he saw the canopy of the forest. Endless, a green so deep that it glowed with life even at night, keeping away the grasp of darkness by virtue of their stubborn desire to live, to spread and dominate. Their leaves, too numerous to count, waved at him psychedelically. The leaves were individual droplets in the ocean that was the Sea of Trees, and each of them beheld him and acknowledged him and thought him unworthy.

Aaron felt small, huddled, sitting on the very tip of the one lonely tree that could stand the thought of him.

Below him were scenes -- memories, he knew. Skittish memories, like dragonflies that would dart away if they felt the weight of your perverse gaze for too long. So he did not look at the memories directly, or else they might shoot away as well. Instead, he watched from the corner of his eyes (or the bottom of his eyes, since he was above the dragonfly-scenes -- was that a thing?) as a brilliant flash of light exploded everywhere (but not everywhere -- everywhere, of course), and he saw himself kneeling wretchedly on burning ground. Aaron could feel phantom pains; physical memories of the summoning all those months ago.

He could hear garbled words being spoken, only half-heard from his vantage point. He really was quite high up -- but he could not look at the memory directly or he would scare it away. The young man strained himself to hear. Ahead of him, the leaves waved.

Words reached his ears as if they were whispers carried by the wind from a great distance.

"Three things you must know" Tar declared while memory-Aaron knelt in front of him. "One; this realm will be facing a great danger. The likes of which it has never before faced. Two; you have no obligation whatsoever to help this realm. Your existence, boy, is enough. You are something... Catalyst for ... or for worse. Three; I have not left you helpless. Skills... Steady... Gift... Them."

The meanings of the snippets of words that floated to his ears fit together like individual jigsaw puzzles that buzzed about with wings. He mused about the words dreamily, drunk with un-reality in the ways of dreams, feeling like there was something extremely important out there -- but the pieces just kept on shooting off towards different directions, like flies disturbed from a meal. Maybe if he didn't listen to the words, the flies would settle and not go away, like the dragonfly-dream. Above, the stars swirled.

Below, there was another scene. This one Aaron remembered vividly, even as he watched it play out below him. He felt the wonder of the ancient cave, giant stalactites and stalagmites meeting, handshakes that were millennia in coming. He felt the slight stirring of fear, being in the maw of some great, earthen animal, with the geologic formations now its jagged teeth. The young man once again felt the itch, that inexplicable impulse to touch. Touch the unknown, glowing blue puddle. He felt the panic, as well, the fear of the unknown. He saw the little Aaron -- his subconscious mind -- try to stop him with his small, panicked voice. Nevertheless, he touched, and then he --

"You called for me?" A familiar voice inquired. Aaron saw little Aaron standing beside him, looking down on him with amusement in his little eyes.

"I didn't call for you," Original Aaron accused.

"Ah, my mistake." Little Aaron apologized in way that said he did not care at all. "Lots of things have been happening though, haven't they?"

It wasn't really a question. More like an admission, really. Aaron tried hard to take things in stride because it was kind of difficult to function being surprised at every damn turn, but there were just some things he cannot ignore. He did try hard to, though. Maybe that's why his own brain is confronting him in this dream.

"There's the urgent training." Little Aaron began listing them down one by one with his fingers. "Lydia totally wants to bone Serche. Serche might just let her but seems weird about it. Speaking of weird -- Trasnu's been acting cagey for a while now, he's hiding something. We figured out where the magic came from. By the way -- the magic! That was some --"

"Wait wait wait!" Original Aaron exclaimed. "I have no idea where that magic came from. And Trasnu is...?"

Little Aaron looked at Original Aaron with a long suffering stare. It was especially cutting coming from a child. "Jesus, sometimes I wonder why I'm not the dominant brain."

Original Aaron fearfully stared at Little Aaron while the boy laughed. "Relax! I'm not going to go Split on you -- this is a dream, remember?"

Original Aaron squirmed in discomfort atop the tolerating tree. Above, the stars moved a little more erratically, their paths right on the edge towards chaos. The sea of leaves shivered in discomfort. "Oh, don't be like that. Look, you made the landscape all afraid. It's all going to go away now, buzzing like dragonflies."

Ahead, Original Aaron saw that his small counterpart's words were true. The dreamscape disintegrated into microscopic dust, the horizon rising up like a giant storm of dust. He could only see glimpses of it, but Aaron thought he could see something just beyond the wall of swirling dream dust. Or nothing, depending how you look at it. What he could see beyond was the purest, most absolute blackness that he has ever seen.

"Ah, there you go. You made it dissolve." Little Aaron noted. "We're going to go away now."

He looked down on Original Aaron once again -- and in that moment, Aaron figured out what he was talking -- thinking -- about. He had figured out where the magic come from, and all those other things.

"One last thing before you wake." Little Aaron said. "I'm probably going to cause you some trouble in the future. Sorry in advance."

The wall of dream dust was all around them now, looking like it was near enough to touch if he stretched his arm out. From this close, Aaron could see that the dust were not dust at all -- but dragonflies. Millions upon millions of dragonflies, making up the landscape and now swirling together.

"That's okay." He told Little Aaron, which of course wasn't there anymore. His last thoughts before the dragonfly --storm devoured him and hurtled him into the waking word was one of pure bewilderment.

'Were dreams supposed to be this... Lucid?'

The vision faded as Aaron awoke. His eyes opened to the familiar sight of the hut's roof above him, and his body wakened to the familiar pressure and warmth of Lydia's near-naked body against him.

Throughout the morning, he had a distinct certainty that he just had the strangest dream. The dream was gone, but it left him with strong impressions of having an important discovery; that the magic that he had was something given to him as he was brought into this world.

"Now that you've mentioned it -- how exactly did you come to know the language of the Forest People? And to speak it so perfectly." Lydia wondered, cradling a small bowl of meat stew. The hot, savory dish paired rather well with boiled tubers. The group was a having a hearty breakfast.

"Oh! I never thought about that -- I kind of forgot about it, to be honest. You think it has something to do with magic?"

"It seems likely -- but I've never heard of a magic like that." Lydia responded.

"It is a different magic entirely from what we've been practicing." Serche joined in. "We have been learning the magic of Day creatures -- the manipulation of the physical world. If it is true that your ability in language is magic, then it would fall under Dawn. They govern the mind; they have control over memories, knowledge and physical sensations."

"That's pretty scary." Aaron frowned, deep in thought. "Is it normal to be able to do two kinds of magic?"

Serche paused. "Normal, no. But you've got to admit, master -- your situation is hardly what can be considered normal."

"I guess so." The young man wrinkled his nose. "What I mean to say is; is it possible? Can you do Dawn magic as well?"

The Rakan Shaman shook her head. "I have not learned Dawn magic, and even if I did, I would not be able to wield it as good as a Dawn creature. That said, it is possible to learn more than one kind of magic; Lydia here knows both Dusk and Day -- or at least, she does now that she's successfully learned fire magic basics." Lydia beamed. She'd successfully lit a bonfire yesterday, with Aaron's advice and one week from his magical awakening. "Magical categories are more of a... predisposition, rather than an exclusive trait."

The young man nodded. "I guess these two are the 'gifts' to me then."

"Gifts, master?" Serche's ears perked up.

"I don't remember much about the specifics, but when I was brought into this world, the old man who talked to me --"

"Tar the Far Seer."

"Yes, Tar. He told me that he didn't leave me helpless, that he left me gifts to use. I hadn't thought of it until now, but I think this is what he meant."

Serche nodded slowly. "So you've been gifted Dawn and Day magic. What else is there?"

"What do you mean? That's it."

"I don't think so. These things always comes in threes, master."

Aaron looked at her weirdly.

Trasnu seemed to agree with her as well, his eyes pensive as he nodded. "There are always three. Three quests, three monsters to kill, three powerful weapons of old. Three gifts. Sure as the fruits that fall to the ground. At least in the stories."

"There's the wards on your skin." Lydia volunteered.

"That's right!" Serche agreed. "That would satisfy the rule of threes. If only we knew what they did."

The young man shrugged. "Well, this is real life. Maybe these things are just tattoos, and Tar had a weird sense of humor." He still looked thoughtful, nevertheless.

The gifts, though, came with a several definite tradeoffs.

Aaron discovered and accepted within himself his extremely low magical capacity -- that was the reason why starting a fire two times gave him a dreadful magical hangover the first time around. The Sky Treader Clan did not have an exact system of measuring magical capacity, it was more of a guesstimate than any organized system; but according to Serche if her magical capacity was a puddle of water with the diameter of an arm-span, his could fit in his own cupped palms. Lydia's capacity, in extreme contrast, is something more akin to a small pond. A small pond that grew every time they had sex.