Catalyst

As Xenron’s head throbbed with phantom pain, it was not anger or regret or self loathing that came first to his mind. Though he was young, barely teenager, there was a part of him that wished to look at everything as an academic might. So it was with a detached sense of unfairness that he first observed his suffering. He had faced his fears, his inner demons, following his hunch that doing so might solve the core of his problems and open a path to personal growth. That sort of thing ought to be rewarded, he thought. But perhaps it was naive to think that way. Unfortunately, this academic outlook could not last forever. Many try to separate their values and analysis from their emotions - but few are successful when emotions grow strong.

For as long as he could remember, vague dread had lingered in Xenron’s mind. Sometimes he was terrified that he’d made a fool of himself in front of someone too important, and that would finally put his father over the edge. Sometimes he thought on the weight of his honored name and title, though he wished he did not. Often, he thought of losing what little he had of true value to him and being perfectly alone. But strongest of all was the dread that he could not name - a Silent Dread. He’d stumbled on some self-help videos on late, rainy nights like this - with parental or social anxieties, he could think about the source critically and even calm himself. With logic and a little patience, he could right his course and get back on task - on a good day. He had no such luck with his Silent Dread. It was always there when his guard lowered - when he took a deep breath, when he felt at ease on a walk, when he closed his eyes at night.

This night, he had resolved to look at the dread straight on. Perhaps he could find some crucial truth about himself, previously lost to shadows. He had immediately regretted it, and withdrawn to try to escape the fallout.

Even within a veil of dopamine, using one app and then another to distract himself, Xenron could feel the Silent Dread. Even now, it lingered just out of sight. He gritted his teeth. Hadn’t he meant to face it? Mana came from the mind. From the soul. Sometimes that meant trauma. How could he dare call himself prince if he couldn’t face himself?! Incensed, Xenron threw his phone across the room. Impotent as he was without magic, it did not burn to ashes, or short out in a flash of lightning, or shatter into a million shards. It simply clattered to the ground.

Then, his paltry defense gone, Xenron looked upon the fullness of the Silent Dread. It was as it had been earlier, though it was not as he had previously expected when he thought on this course of action. The Silent Dread told him that all was not as it should be - that he was not as he should be. As if he didn’t know that. And for just a moment, it screamed that he needed to get away, almost as an audible voice. That also made sense. While he was in his crippled state, too weak to escape even the weakest assassin, he was not allowed to leave the castle keep - but that didn’t stop him from dreaming about the broader world every day. The thoughts that the Silent Dread pressed onto him were not unusual. What plagued him was the sheer intensity and personality behind these thoughts. As if they were not his own - they almost felt personified, with a concerned feminine voice. That troubled him - but not so much that it should undo him like this.

But the thoughts were not merely mental suggestions. Shortly, vertigo struck. Not again. Xenron’s perspective shifted in his dizziness, though he tried to resist it.  Pressure. No air. He could feel small hands choking him as he lay in a puddle, looking with glazed eyes at the uncaring gray sky.

Back in his true body, Xenron fell to his knees, but he couldn’t feel the floor for long. His altered perspective remained the same as the world shifted around him, making him nauseous. He was still held down, but the muddy puddle was replaced with some kind of gray metal, binding his arms in long cuffs. The sky became a ceiling that seemed as far away. A woman in a fine suit looked down at him with a sympathetic expression as a mechanical buzzing crescendoed out of control, driving him into shakes. He tried to place her face. He could not - it was as if everything above the nose was erased from his mind, from reality.

Again the world changed as he struggled, no longer able to feel his real body. The sky was bright this time, though a figure with no face loomed impossibly tall above him, ringed by more subordinates than he could count. Blood seeped out from the ground, as if overflowing, threatening to drown him. Coming back to himself, Xenron was holding his head. Crying. It took him many moments to trust the reality of the ground he rested on.

Once again, Xenron regretted his decisions. He had meant to learn, to do better. But every attempt seemed more off-course than the last. Once again, Xenron felt that he was treading water, doing everything in his power to reach a faraway shore he wasn’t sure existed.

If not, what’s the point of keeping my head above the water?

Xenron’s head groggily turned sideways, his eyes roaming to the raindrops on his single window - and the many falling far below. What a graceful fall. And the Silent Dread seemed to agree. It wanted him out of this place. Immediately.

Oddly, the Silent Dread did not seem to call for his death directly. But when he thought of the end, for just a moment he could see a silhouette glaring down at him in the rain. He desperately recoiled from the thought. Right now, he would do anything but return to that place.

The core of his mind rallied, as if to encourage him.

You can do a lot of good for this empire. Nothing will improve by you dying.

But the thoughts felt bare as cherry blossoms in the winter. There was no strength left in them.

The Silent Dread circled in Xenron’s mind, pulling his other demons with it, growing. Inside of that torment, Xenron crawled to the other side of the room, not trusting his footing. The movement helped, a little. He found his phone, the case surprisingly cracked in a few places. That was odd, but he put it from his mind. Realizing the harsh light wasn’t good for him, he switched to the gentle golden illumination of hard light projection mode and quickly drafted a message, his fingers gliding across the splayed out interface.

Leo, can we get lunch tomorrow? I’m free on your lunch hour. I would appreciate it.

A cry for help in disguise. It was the most he could manage. He turned the phone off straight after sending - he didn’t feel he couldn’t handle a ‘no’ at the moment, for any reason. It was with anxious hope in his chest that he slowly drifted to sleep.

***

A sea of blankness in every direction - in this nothingness, all was forgotten. In that blankness, curiosity arose. Swimming or drifting, the Observer moved, or tried to move, through the space. But there was only space, until -

Numerous lights - reds and greens, golds and silvers and royal shades of all kinds, and impossible colors deeper than these, flashed by like falling stars in an erratic array. The Observer was sated and then beyond within moments. The Observer thought it was more exciting and beautiful and terrifying that he could possibly bear, that he would swell to bursting - and then the perfect darkness returned.

Almost.

One red light glimmered before the Observer - no, it’s more apt to say that there was one red light, and only that light. This, at closer examination, was not at all like a star. It was shaped like the Observer, though different somehow, and its presence was somehow radiant. The Observer felt dread and regret and hunger and determination, all at once, in the core of his being, and he saw the figure of a young child. The boy’s blonde hair swayed in the breeze as he sat perched on a high branch, smiling as he sketched. The forest around the child seemed mundane, but the beauty of the drawing told another story. All the boy’s family was in the drawing, more joyful and noble there than any real person could be. For a moment, the Observer wished to see the inside of the boy’s mind - for what would the world look like through such kind eyes? The Observer watched this moment with interest through some 6th or 7th or 9th sense. Somehow, he could feel this being’s connection to that child. The Observer reeled with the emotion. Whoever this was, this glimmering red light meant to return to the boy no matter what. The Observer didn’t know anything about the circumstances. But the glimmer’s sheer determination shifted something in the Observer.

Then, the moment was gone, and there was only the red light. By the moment, the Observer felt more aware of itself. And by the moment, like those moments before a dream ends, it knew its time ran short. Xenron - the true Xenron - would not be able to remember this connection. This troubled the Observer - something that little else could do. It was his purpose to return with information - at least, that was the part the Observer could remember. But something within them - within Xenron - had been broken, and did not show any signs of repairing.

Still, the Observer should be like Xenron in most regards. As it merged back into him, it focused on the place that was blocked - the gateway of his mana. It could not force it open - and the Observer was not sure this was possible. Perhaps they would always be broken. Still, as everything disappeared, the Observer left that single fragment of memory stolen from the red glimmer in the gateway. The rest was up to Xenron. This memory, like many, would be his to seek out - if he ever freed himself.