Late Summer, 507
Alone in his room, his living quarters, Vizayas sat with his eyes closed amidst the pitch black darkness he had called his home for these past few days. His mind reeled, rose, and fell. It was more difficult to clear his mind, to meditate. But he kept trying, and trying. His chest heaved and sunk with the passing chimes. A pit in his stomach called to him, begging to be filled. He was growing delirious, he was starving. His mind told him that his needed food, but he was told to fast. He felt so detached, hanging on by a thread. He had to bear this weight for yet longer.
It had been six days since he had learned about magic. It had been six days since he began the process of learning Morphing. He hoped his initiation would be swift, but the separation of mind and body did not come as easy as he had hoped. He now feared he would fail, that this process would be lost on him. He knew he couldn't let that happen, he just had to carry on for a bit longer. Surely, his pain would be rewarded.
He would never have guessed the strife people endured to survive would be this painful. He had never felt this way before, and in a way it allowed him to relate to the poor. The starving young that danced across the puzzle of streets Alvadas willed itself to be. His senses were powerful now, heightened. He felt like a ravenous beast, ready to hunt down, to tear apart, to consume. His mind ached for sleep, but all the same valued sustenance far more as something of a primal desire, a need.
Hunger, hunger. He leaned back and forth, to and fro, like a mad man trying to make sense of a shattered mind as he held his instincts at bay. He wanted to leave this place, seek out something to give him energy. He tried to take himself off the idea, but his brain would not have it. Like a wild animal, I crave... But he kept going. He refused, outright refused to let this trial go unconquered. Something inside him shifted, pulled forward with the most peculiar feeling. It was like a new muscle, one born of insanity. It was as if his mind was becoming... unhinged.
It was as if he knew then what he was capable of. He could become anything, anyone. He could satiate his basest desires by adapting to the need. Yes, it was as if he knew this now. His gut felt like the void, but his mind was the world. His mind had become so much more important than his body, he felt like he could gaze upon it. He felt he could change. Then, when he thought himself so far gone, it happened.
It was a feeling, definitely. But it was something more. It was knowledge, and chaos, and self image, and sacrifice. Another image, one of his mother came to mind. Clad in darkness but silhouetted by fire, her smooth as silk feathers extended forth like a comb of the most illustrious existence. Those feathers, oh how he longed for their touch, to grace his arms. To cover him in their warmth. His greatest wish, to fly away from now, did not go unanswered. He felt something change, a new weight on his arms slowly shifting. He passively reached up to brush aside this new feeling, as if it were a bug. However, his fingers touched only that what he had desired. A single feather.
The Umbra Kiln
Alone in his room, his living quarters, Vizayas sat with his eyes closed amidst the pitch black darkness he had called his home for these past few days. His mind reeled, rose, and fell. It was more difficult to clear his mind, to meditate. But he kept trying, and trying. His chest heaved and sunk with the passing chimes. A pit in his stomach called to him, begging to be filled. He was growing delirious, he was starving. His mind told him that his needed food, but he was told to fast. He felt so detached, hanging on by a thread. He had to bear this weight for yet longer.
It had been six days since he had learned about magic. It had been six days since he began the process of learning Morphing. He hoped his initiation would be swift, but the separation of mind and body did not come as easy as he had hoped. He now feared he would fail, that this process would be lost on him. He knew he couldn't let that happen, he just had to carry on for a bit longer. Surely, his pain would be rewarded.
He would never have guessed the strife people endured to survive would be this painful. He had never felt this way before, and in a way it allowed him to relate to the poor. The starving young that danced across the puzzle of streets Alvadas willed itself to be. His senses were powerful now, heightened. He felt like a ravenous beast, ready to hunt down, to tear apart, to consume. His mind ached for sleep, but all the same valued sustenance far more as something of a primal desire, a need.
Hunger, hunger. He leaned back and forth, to and fro, like a mad man trying to make sense of a shattered mind as he held his instincts at bay. He wanted to leave this place, seek out something to give him energy. He tried to take himself off the idea, but his brain would not have it. Like a wild animal, I crave... But he kept going. He refused, outright refused to let this trial go unconquered. Something inside him shifted, pulled forward with the most peculiar feeling. It was like a new muscle, one born of insanity. It was as if his mind was becoming... unhinged.
It was as if he knew then what he was capable of. He could become anything, anyone. He could satiate his basest desires by adapting to the need. Yes, it was as if he knew this now. His gut felt like the void, but his mind was the world. His mind had become so much more important than his body, he felt like he could gaze upon it. He felt he could change. Then, when he thought himself so far gone, it happened.
It was a feeling, definitely. But it was something more. It was knowledge, and chaos, and self image, and sacrifice. Another image, one of his mother came to mind. Clad in darkness but silhouetted by fire, her smooth as silk feathers extended forth like a comb of the most illustrious existence. Those feathers, oh how he longed for their touch, to grace his arms. To cover him in their warmth. His greatest wish, to fly away from now, did not go unanswered. He felt something change, a new weight on his arms slowly shifting. He passively reached up to brush aside this new feeling, as if it were a bug. However, his fingers touched only that what he had desired. A single feather.
