Walk the Path

You glance over your shoulder. There is no one else at the shrine, just you. No distant footsteps, no shifting shadows or rustling bushes. It is a peaceful, gentle summer dusk, a cool breeze rolling down from the mountain all that breaks the silence.

It hasn’t been used for a while, but in all likelihood the overgrowth and the decay only contributes to its power. A little enclave in the depths of the forest just south of Osivyver, hidden away. Two blocky pillars of rough stone, scaled now by tangled morning glories and ivy, stand across from each other atop a stone disc set into the forest floor, engraved with a spiral. It’s… simple. Deceptively so, perhaps. No runes, no writing, no symbols at all.

You kneel, setting your sheathed blade beside you gently. You hope you got the mixture right—you’ve made it before, but the details are hazy. The Grasp has only grown less and less keen on sending you into the Path, now that your voice is lost to it. You uncork the bottle, steadily decanting the thick, dark sludge into the center of the spiral.

Setting the bottle aside, you watch as it slowly crawls down the arms of the spiral. The smell is… strange. Like grassy ash.

You stand back up, taking the sword and its sheath in hand. Your crest flares out behind your head, the halo coming alight. As the spiral fills out with the tonic, you shut your eyes, suck in a deep breath, and step forward.

Past the two pillars, into the Path.

You arrive, eyes slowly opening. It’s no longer a disorienting feeling, which is in itself a bit concerning. The Path is familiar, no matter whose it is.

She looks up at you, joy heard clearly in her voice. “My child,” she speaks quietly, her voice too quelled by the Path, though not nearly as much as yours. You smile too, a warmth welling in your chest at the familiar sound.

You look around at her home. It is hard at first to make out much detail; the colors have faded from the dream over time, resolving to a black-and-white wireframe. It’s like a little model of a bedroom, everything past its windows a stark and empty white, and its only door being the one you just came through—one which is surely locked, normally.

Although the room’s definition has decayed since last you saw it, the rest is certainly alive. A clear and bright waft of incense fills the room, and so too does the smell of what must be a lovely pot of fresh tea. Ethereal chimes bristle against the unreachable walls outside, and although there is no city to be seen, her memory of its sounds still quietly resounds through the room in waves. It is a place of peace.

She must be blind now, you think, at least to her surroundings. Inevitable; the Path dulls the senses over time, much as two mirrors facing each other grow dimmer with each reflection. Yet, she clearly sees you, in all your joy. It’s unsettling, though, that you cannot clearly see her. Her face is a blur, a composite of your own memories and what she remembers from decades ago. A woman, an owl Wildkin, that is all you can truly see.

You approach the chabudai, kneeling politely before it and setting your blade on the table.

“It has been a long time,” she mutters. You nod. “How have you been?”

“I have done my best,” spells your halo. “And you?”

“I see,” she says. She gingerly pours you a cup of spiced tea, sliding it across the table to you. You thank her, and take it. “Of course, I miss my mortal life. But… the peace of my Path is a joy, too. I am happy to see you again.”

“I can’t imagine that much happens here,” you reply.

“And for the better!” she laughs. “I always wished to simply be able to enjoy the sense of living. It is… hard, to do so in this small box, but sometimes I find that the door opens. That I get to experience something new… at least in a sense. The waiting between doesn’t hurt too much.”

“That’s good to hear,” you say. You begin to think through your next question, but she cuts you off at the pass.

“I know you’re here for… something. I can feel it. Don’t… take that as an accusation, or anything. But I understand that the Path is… difficult to find, and even more difficult to walk.”

You nod, earnestly. You refuse to insult either of you with any attempt to conceal your purpose. “I need your advice,” spells your halo.

“You want to know if I think you're doing the right thing.”

“Correct.”

“My child… I hate to do this to you, now that you’ve come all this way, but my guidance is this—you are far too clever to find solace in the words of your elders.”

You frown, but… you know she’s right. You lay your hands across your lap, taking in a deep breath and nod. “The Bearers are important. But there are better uses for my blade,” speaks your halo. She offers little more than a shrug in reply.

“If that is truly so. I taught you well, that you still interrogate your purpose, even if you have shown yourself willing to spill blood for it. Not to sound like Seiji… but rust can claim a mind, just as it may claim a blade. It is good not to let yourself become too entwined with one ideal!”

“I understand,” you respond. Still, your gaze hangs on the floor, for a moment.

“If ever the doubt becomes too heavy, then perhaps it is wise to listen to it. But doubt is there in every wise person. Now… stay with me, for a while. It’s going to get very boring when you leave,” she laughs, a light and wispy laugh that carries a tremendous weight.

You smile, looking back up at her and nodding. Taking a sip of your tea, you ask, “Of course. Have you any stories to share with me?”

“Well…”

…

You emerge from the other side, looking around. The quiet summer dusk has turned lively summer dawn, the trees bearing birdsong and breeze, and a cool blanket of dew has settled on the hill. Glancing back at the shrine, the last trickles of the solution disappear into the ends of the spiral.

A fulfilling journey; even if the doubt still weighs on you, you may bear it with more grace than before. You hope.