Shadow slave: In The Eye of The Beholder

In the empty abyss of Silas's mind, he dreamt.

Smooth and sturdy, spires lay in orbit around a brick castle, their shadows falling down to cover the vast grassy plains surrounding the structure. Within the castle lay a crater in its cobblestone ceiling, with light flowing through its wounds.

Through a sliver of a window, the inside of the stronghold could be seen. A scarlet red sun-kissed throne lay before an absurdly large banquet table, with countless white-eyed servants sitting still, their lifeless bodies looking towards the throne, awaiting their master.

Outside, Silas observed the outstretched plains once more. The life that would normally be sprouting from its soil was absent, creating a subtle itch at the back of his mind, clawing ever so slightly.

Suddenly, the sun dawned, its rays shifting as shadows retreated into obscurity. The moon emerged from the west, the countless stars breaching the realms and shining down. Their subtle light created small pockets of luminous softness.

Silas realized that the moon rising in the west meant time was flowing in reverse. The speed fluctuated but steadily increased until the grass shrunk, birds emerged, and small wooden buildings constructed themselves as the catastrophes that destroyed them were reversed. in the golden meadow seasons passed in an instant as hundreds of years went by.

In a moment, the castle was repaired. A weak boy tilling his fields came into view, the abstract flow of time halting before resuming at its normal pace.

[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your first trial...]

"So, this is how it feels," Silas spoke, the dim curiosity radiating the tone. 

The dull ache in his palms radiated out. In his hands lay a worn-down scythe. It seemed the spell had chosen this body for Silas to inhabit. The flora around him was a bizarre sight. Dropping the scythe onto the piles of fiber, he took in the fields of wheat towering over him.

Such a sight left him speechless. The street rat had barely seen blades of grass, and now, in front of him, lay a cascade of farmland. Most of nature on Earth had been eradicated by the resource wars and the onslaught of natural disasters, and even more when the spell arrived and unleashed the vicious nightmare creatures.

Of course, humanity managed to stave them off and win the war—for now, at least. But much less talked about was the loss of Earth's habitats compared to the countless lives lost in the war. Now, all that remained of modern-day nature was stolen away and kept by the wealthy as high-value products, while fake imitations were produced and shipped to the common people.

Yet, the nature that had become absent was right in front of him, swaying gently in the wind, vibrant golden sprouts weaving between each other. Maybe the Nightmare Spell was as much a dream as it was a nightmare. It didn't seem like the hellscape the other low-lives of the outskirts had spoken about.

"I wouldn't mind dying here, actually. Though there must be some nightmare creatures here, right? They might come out of the strands and bite my head off."

Despite the wondrous environment, Silas found his mood darkening. After all, the spell was soon to throw its horrific challenges his way. It was a trial, after all, and it seemed the spell had decided which body to grant him. He did not know exactly what he looked like, but the same horrid feeling he had growing up was also present in this body.

It seemed the boy he possessed was riddled with weakness and sickness. His pale, thin hands looked fragile. How was he going to strike down a nightmare creature? Picking up the scythe, he observed the weapon and sighed.

"Something's better than nothing," and with a shrug, he ventured past the beige forest of wheat, each crop brushing past the shabby brown cloth he wore, rustling in confusion at the stranger wandering through its domain.

After about half an hour of his journey, the crops cleared up, revealing a small, clear blue lake that separated the seemingly endless fields. Crouching down on its banks, Silas looked deep into the water. To his surprise, it was so clear that instead of looking into its contents, it perfectly reflected his face.

A pale youth looking to be around 17 with ashen hair and seal-grey eyes, high cheekbones, and small, petite lips looked back.

His face would have portrayed some sense of elegance or sharpness, but it was betrayed by the experiences of his past: the trials he had faced, the death of his parents, the experiments on his body, the many corpses of his peers, and the struggle on the outskirts.

The pain he had experienced subtly marred his expression. His wide eyes lacked the light of life.

It seemed the boy was not only similar in weakness but also in his appearance, apart from a few titbits. It made Silas wonder what about the boy had made him so similar. What history had he experienced?

The wind picked up, the breeze whistling as the seeds of the wheat accompanied the flow. Silas's hair followed in motion, the grey locks being pushed aside to reveal more of his face. The image of new skin made Silas smirk.

"The spell couldn't find an exact copy of me, after all. It is lacking the 'scar.'" Such a revelation helped him solidify his identity, his place in the world. He was himself, although only a single string in fate. It seemed that within the strands that stitched it together, its weaves were unique.

All the thoughts about the spell seemed to have reminded him of another effect of the Nightmare Spell: aspects.

"How do I see them?" Silas began attempting to picture anything to bring them to his mind. It took a bit, but eventually shimmering runes appeared in the air in front of him. He could barely read in the first place, but somehow the ancient runes made sense.

Name: Silas

True Name: ___

Rank: Aspirant

Soul Core: Dormant

Memories: ___

Echoes: ___

Attributes: [Touch of Divinity], [Soul's Sight], [Empowerment]

Aspect: [Beholder of Strings]

Aspect Description: The sight the beholder has is unusual. Instead of seeing the passage of time and the spectrum of light, they can see deeper into the very fabrics that play into events and possibilities.

Silas stared into the unfamiliar runes. He understood the words, but making sense of them stumped him. Looking back to the open sky, he couldn't see anything different. He focused for a few seconds until, out of the corner of his vision, a golden abstract thread started gliding a few meters above him, twisting and twirling until the head of the string flowed past his vision.

He continued to stare absently at the phenomenon for around a minute or so, then looked to his right. The string seemed to stretch deeper into the horizon but stopped at a small brown songbird. To his shock, each movement of the avian followed the golden string. As soon as the point of the bird's beak touched the string, it faded into nothingness.

Each flap of the wing, each tilt of the tailfeather, every adjustment it made perfectly followed the golden string, like a train on its tracks, riding across every bump, twist, and loop the golden string made.

Silas's head followed the bird like his head was on a swivel, his eyes unable to detach from it as it flew above him and then to the left, following the string that continued into the horizon seemingly forever.

Witnessing such phenomena put Silas into complete silence, his mind blanking.

In the quiet meadow of wheat, he breathed in, taking in the fresh air, the whistle of the wind pushed into the background of his attention.

"Let's see how far I can take this!"

With utter focus, he strained his eyes into the field. A single string emerged slightly above each and every strand. The strand only wavered slightly before every single stalk bent down, the wheat staying relatively still. The golden strings gently returned to the host plant, creating an arc of motion.

The breeze then picked up, the crops surrendering to the wind, their stalks bending closer to the earth.

Following the exact line of the golden string.

A rare joyous expression overtook Silas. Straining his eyes further, the pain started to flare, but he continued to witness the glory of an aspect.

With even more focus, strands of ethereal blue string burst out of the field. Although not as vibrant, the blue strings held a different air around them. A select few blue threads solidified into the golden glowing strings once again.

The wondrous scene cut off as Silas forcibly closed his eyelids. The backlash stung deeply and brought coherency to his thoughts, the gears in his head turning, taking in the glory he had witnessed.

"So, I can see the inevitability of things by the golden string. But if I look further, I can see the blue strings, the way they solidify into the superior ones... I think they represent possibility?" He could see slightly into the future of actions as well as every possible action.

"But it seems it has a limit. I could see the bird's golden string for a minute, but when I looked at the wheat, it was only eight seconds, with the blue strings being thirteen seconds before..."

He was truly blessed with such an aspect. Hell, even with a weak body, maybe, just maybe, he could survive the first nightmare.

The emotions within surged, showing on his pale face. A devilish smile painted on, with a bright surge of hope radiating through his eyes, memories playing one after another deeper beyond his pupils.

the anger and excitement constantly battled each other for a place in his expression.

"Just maybe, I can go beyond. Maybe I can go even further."