The Astral Dogma

"You..."

The word echoed softly, trailing into the obscurity, only to be met with a cool response.

"Took you long enough."

The dim light revealed a silhouette, moving with a grace that spoke of mystery and intrigue. As the figure stepped forward, Marielle emerged from the shadows, her enigmatic presence captivating the scene.

"You honestly surprised me when you defeated it; it took me a while to set it up, you know," she declared, her words carrying an air of both challenge and amusement.

Pacey, wearied from the battle, lowered himself beside a gnarled tree. The energy spent in the confrontation now demanded replenishment, and he focused his thoughts on restoring his strength.

"So what?"

Marielle, undeterred, responded with a hint of exasperation, "So what?? It took me a long time to reanimate the damn thing!"

Pacey's eyes widened in disbelief. "Reanimation...?"

"Only a genius like me can do something like this," Marielle asserted, flicking her vibrant pink hair with unwavering confidence.

"Reviving the dead...?" Pacey muttered, attempting to discern the source of Marielle's elusive voice.

"Wow, I'm surprised; you almost got it right," she teased, her voice echoing mysteriously through the air.

Finally, she materialized, perched upon a branch overlooking the very tree where Pacey was sitting down.

Marielle, draped in an air of confidence , addressed the weakened Pacey. "Since you're practically useless right now, I might as well tell you how my hax works," she remarked with a casual shrug.

As Marielle delved into her explanation, Pacey, quick-witted and resourceful, seized the moment to discreetly consume a numbing medication procured from Leah. The concoction coursed through his veins, granting him a temporary respite from the throbbing fatigue.

"As I was saying, you weren't so far off; they are practically zombies, but my reanimating is completely different!"

Her words hung in the air, a curtain lifting to reveal the arcane nature of her abilities. Marielle's reanimation, a unique and esoteric power, exclusively manipulated the deceased. It functioned on a principle tied to ether levels, reanimating beings as long as their ethereal essence remained beneath her own.

Reanimation is a hax that comes into play when dealing with deceased living entities, operating as long as their energy levels remain below a specific threshold. This ability enables the user to employ pre-memorized sets of actions and infuse them into lifeless organisms. To maximize effectiveness, the user benefits from prior knowledge about the typical movements of the deceased being. Essentially, it's like bringing back the motions and behaviors of the past, utilizing a sort of learned muscle memory to revive and control the once-dead subject.

However, as Marielle attempted her to explain, it became evident that her brilliance didn't necessarily translate into effective communication. Pacey, despite his predicament, found himself lost in the convoluted labyrinth of her explanations.

Inserting snippets of their conversation, Marielle attempted to convey the intricacies of her hax. 

"You see, it's like... um, imagine a puppet, but not really a puppet. More like a memory dance with a lifeless partner. And the ether levels, they're like... uh, the dance floor, I guess? But not exactly. Anyway, it's complicated."

"You suck at this," Pacey remarked bluntly, cutting through the haze of Marielle's convoluted explanations.

"Shut it! I'm working on it!" Marielle retorted, her frustration palpable.

"But there's no use for you to be here anymore. I'll just take your crystals and be on my merry way," Pacey declared, a resolve shining in his eyes.

As Marielle attempted to swipe his crystals, Pacey's agility proved a formidable defense. He deftly evaded her grasp, maintaining a strategic distance.

"Oh, so you can still move," Marielle observed, a hint of surprise coloring her voice.

"You know, the country of Fummon never participated in guild wars. Why now?" Pacey inquired, seizing the opportunity to unravel the mystery behind Marielle's motives.

"We got lucky, I guess.." Marielle responded, her reply laced with uncertainty.

(Soft scene break) 

In the country of Fummon, where only a handful of guilds existed, the majority of the population lived in poverty, treasuring their lives and greed more than anything else. The fear of death held them back from joining guilds, making them hesitant to take risks.

Among these guilds was the Adam's Guild, a beacon of opportunity standing resolute. Outside its doors, Marielle, undeterred by the disinterest around her, attempted to lure in potential members.

"Free housing! Free healthcare and more, as long as you join our Adam's Guild!" she proclaimed with determination, her voice echoing through the streets.

However, her efforts were met with indifference; no one spared her a glance. Yet, undaunted, Marielle persisted week after week, hoping to break through the apathy that surrounded her.

In one of her attempts, a passerby questioned, "Why join a guild? It's too risky! and we value our lives here."

Marielle, with a spark of conviction in her eyes, responded, "But think of the opportunities! A chance for a better life, you wouldn't have to worry about money no more!."

The bystander shook their head, skeptical. "It's that simple. We've seen too many fall to the dangers of guild life."

Week after week, Marielle's determination grew, her persuasive efforts becoming more impassioned.

"Get out of here! We don't need your kind here!" the townsfolk shouted, their hostility palpable. 

People began shunning her, escalating to the point where rocks were hurled in her direction. Undeterred, Marielle faced the onslaught, her unwavering commitment shining through the barrage of disdain.

One fateful day, as she was cleaning the floors of the Adam's Guild, Marielle caught a whiff of something ominous. A fire had erupted at the front of the guild, the townsfolk setting their balcony ablaze. Quick on her feet, Marielle seized a blanket and rushed to smother the flames, extinguishing as much as she could.

"WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM, PEOPLE? CAN'T YOU SEE WE'RE TRYING TO HELP YOU? WHY CAN'T YOU ACCEPT IT?" she cried out in frustration toward the belligerent townsfolk.

Amidst the chaos, a hand gently grasped Marielle's shoulder from behind. An old man, weathered by time, spoke with a calm wisdom that contrasted the fiery turmoil surrounding them.

"Calm down, Marielle. It's quite alright."

"But why?!" she implored, her eyes reflecting both anger and confusion.

"They will come at their own time. Let's just be patient," the old man advised, his voice carrying the weight of understanding .

The old man stumbled, his frail form faltering, but Marielle, ever attentive, swiftly caught him. "There, there, easy now," she comforted, 

Supporting him, Marielle guided the elderly figure up the stairs of the Adam's Guild. Despite the stumble, the old man chuckled, his weathered face displaying a mix of amusement and gratitude. "Look at me, in this pitiful state. I wish I could do more to help you," he admitted, easing himself onto a worn couch with a sigh.

Marielle, her eyes filled with a blend of admiration and genuine concern, reassured him, "No, you don't have to. You took care of me; it's my turn now." Her words carried a weight of gratitude, a testament to the unspoken bond between them.

As the old man settled into the cushions, Marielle fetched a glass of water. She handed it to him, her gaze thoughtful. "You've done more than enough. Your guidance, your wisdom—it's been invaluable," she expressed, her voice softening with sincerity.

He took a sip, his eyes meeting Marielle's with a deep understanding. "Sometimes, helpin' people isn't about grand gestures; it's bout' being there, guidin' when needed. You're doing more than you realize," he imparted, his words resonating with the echoes of experience.

Marielle, her shoulders slightly sagging with the weight of her own journey, smiled appreciatively. "I won't give up. I'll keep trying until they see, until they understand," she declared, determination etched across her features.

The pantry's near emptiness drew Marielle's attention, prompting her decision to venture out to the market for groceries. 

"I'm about to head out to the market to get some groceries for dinner. I'll be back," Marielle declared to the seemingly empty guild. The pantry's near emptiness had prompted her impromptu journey to replenish their supplies.

As she stepped outside, a sudden drizzle greeted her, prompting Marielle to grab a cloak and a basket before venturing into the marketplace. A large, furry saberhound lay at the porch, rising as she prepared to leave.

"No, you stay here and protect him, okay? I'll be right back," she instructed, tenderly rubbing the creature's fur. With determination in her steps, Marielle navigated through the rain, encountering countless faces in the bustling market.

The lively marketplace unfolded before Marielle as she made her way from one vendor to another, securing the various groceries on her list. Amidst the rhythmic patter of raindrops, she found herself drawn to the quaint bakery, its warm aroma wafting through the air like an inviting melody.

"Welcome!" The cheerful greeting met Marielle as she stepped into the cozy bakery, where the delicious scent of freshly baked goods enveloped her senses. Behind the counter stood Rinnie, the friendly baker whose face brightened upon recognizing her regular cusBookr.

"Hey, Rinnie," Marielle greeted, a smile playing on her lips as she approached the counter.

"Here to get bread for the old man?" Rinnie inquired, her hands deftly preparing a bag for the anticipated purchase. Marielle nodded in affirmation, appreciating the familiarity and camaraderie that had developed between them over the visits.

"Yeah, he's been craving the sourdough you make," Marielle replied, her eyes glancing over the delectable array of bread displayed in the bakery. The anticipation of satisfying the guild's craving for a comforting meal fueled her determination.

Rinnie skillfully packed up a selection of freshly baked bread, the enticing aroma intensifying as each loaf found its place in the bag. However, Marielle couldn't help but notice that the quantity seemed more than what she had intended to purchase.

"No, this is too much—" Marielle began, her sense of fairness urging her to express her concern.

But Rinnie, with a warm and genuine smile, interrupted her protest. "No, I insist, it's on the house."

A moment of surprise registered on Marielle's face, followed by a grateful expression. She couldn't believe the generosity extended by the baker, a gesture that transcended the usual cusBookr-seller dynamic. The warmth of Rinnie's kindness added an unexpected layer to the rainy day, like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds.

"Really? Are you sure?" Marielle questioned, her gratitude mingling with a hint of disbelief.

"Absolutely sure. Consider it a token of appreciation for being a loyal cusBookr," Rinnie affirmed, her eyes reflecting sincerity. It was a sentiment that went beyond the simple exchange of goods, an acknowledgment of the connection forged through these encounters.

As Marielle accepted the bag filled with an abundance of bread, she felt a sense of warmth not just from the freshly baked loaves but also from the unexpected kindness bestowed upon her. With a heartfelt thank you, she bid Rinnie farewell, leaving the bakery with a heart brimming with appreciation for the small moments of generosity that brightened the ordinary tapestry of her daily life and hopefully see the old man smile again.

As Marielle made her way back to the guild, the rhythmic patter of rain accompanied her footsteps. However, the tranquility was shattered by a sudden interruption, a dark voice calling out to her ominously behind her.

"Are you Marielle from the Adams Guild?" a dark voice called behind her, completely catching her off guard. She flinched, her instincts urging her to attack, yet a subtle intuition held her back. She withdrew her punch, opting instead to leap backward, her senses alert.

The mysterious figure continued, his voice carrying an unsettling weight. "Who are you—what are you?"

"What am I? Isn't that rude?" he responded cryptically, concealing himself in a cloak. 

With an air of intrigue, he proposed, "Do you want to make a contract?"