NOVEL WEB Chapter 7: Chapter 7
The Archivist studied him with a curious gaze, her expression a blend of surprise and anticipation. "Contrary to popular belief, even gods are not omniscient," she admitted. "I'm curious to see where this leads."
She presented three books, each exuding an aura of ancient power. "Each book offers a potential path based on your affinity," she explained. "Choose wisely."
The books were unlike anything Vastian had ever seen. Their covers were devoid of titles or markings, their bindings etched with intricate, alien symbols. They exuded an aura of ancient power, a tangible weight that seemed to pull him closer. Guided by an inexplicable intuition, he reached for the central book.
As his fingers brushed the cover, a surge of energy coursed through him. It was a sensation unlike any he had experienced before, a mixture of exhilaration and trepidation.
"Spirit Forger," the Archivist murmured, her voice carrying a knowing tone. "A challenging path, but one that could lead to great power."
The book, when opened, revealed pages filled with strange diagrams and scripts that seemed to dance and shift before his eyes. It was as if the knowledge within the book was alive, reaching out to him.
The Spirit Forger, at its core, is a manipulator of souls, capable of binding essence to matter. By infusing a soul into an object, a Spirit Forger can animate it, granting it sentience and purpose. The power and abilities of the summoned entity are directly tied to the original soul's strength and nature.
The Archivist, recognizing Vastian's potential, granted him this power, focusing specifically on the Forgotten. By binding the souls of these lost entities to objects, Vastian could create powerful artifacts and guardians. However, gaining the consent of a Forgotten spirit is essential. Without their willing participation, the bond is unstable and prone to disruption.
Imagine a sword imbued with the soul of a warrior, its strikes carrying the weight of a thousand battles. Or a shield animated by the spirit of a protector, capable of absorbing immense force. The possibilities are endless, limited only by the imagination of the Spirit Forger and the strength of the bound soul.
"Now," the Archivist interrupted, her voice cutting through Vastian's concentration. "There are three souls willing to bond with you."
Three orbs descended from the ceiling, each pulsing with an ethereal energy that seemed to shimmer and shift. The first orb was a tempestuous brew of greens and whites, a swirling vortex of energy contained within a translucent shell. As Vastian focused on it, an image formed in his mind: a colossal, spectral wolf, its form rippling with energy. Its eyes, an eerie, glowing green, held an intelligence that belied its feral nature. The creature was not merely an animal, but a guardian spirit, a protector of ancient forests. The arcane symbols etched upon its spectral form suggested a deep connection to lunar cycles and elemental magic.
The wolf-spirit was more than just a beast; it was a conduit to a primordial power. Its essence was raw, untamed, yet imbued with a wisdom born of ages. As Vastian delved deeper into the orb, he could feel the creature's longing for freedom, for a purpose beyond its spectral existence.
The second orb was a deep, inky black, its surface shimmering with an otherworldly luster. As Vastian focused his attention on it, the image of a colossal serpent emerged. It was a creature of shadow and silence, its form serpentine and sinuous, stretching into the darkness beyond the orb. The snake's scales were as black as obsidian, and its eyes, twin emeralds burning with an inner light, held a cold, predatory intelligence. They were not merely eyes, but portals into an abyss of cunning and deception.
This creature was more than a predator; it was a symbol of primordial chaos. Its essence was raw, untamed power, a force of nature given form. As Vastian delved deeper into the orb, he could feel the serpent's hunger for knowledge, its insatiable curiosity about the world beyond its dark domain.
The third orb was a radiant sphere of pure white light, its surface shimmering with iridescent colors. As Vastian focused on it, a majestic figure began to take shape. It was a being of immense size, its form vaguely humanoid yet infused with celestial energy. Its skin was adorned with constellations, and its eyes, twin emeralds radiating an otherworldly glow, held a wisdom and compassion that seemed to encompass the universe. This was no ordinary creature; it was a guardian spirit, a protector of worlds.
The being exuded an aura of tranquility and power, a perfect balance of creation and destruction. It was a symbol of hope, a beacon in the darkness, and a reminder of the universe's inherent beauty. As Vastian delved deeper into the orb, he could feel the creature's longing to serve, to protect, and to guide.
A sudden chill swept through the room as the fourth orb descended. It was unlike the others, cloaked in an aura of ominous anticipation. As it neared the ground, it seemed to distort the light around it, creating a swirling vortex of darkness. The orb itself was a void, a black sphere that seemed to swallow light whole. Yet, within its depths, a faint emerald glow pulsed, like a heartbeat in the abyss.
As the orb settled on the table, it began to tremble, and from its depths, a shadowy figure emerged. It was a humanoid shape, elongated and gaunt, its skin as pale as moonlight. Its eyes, twin emeralds burning with an otherworldly intensity, held a cold, predatory intelligence. Its body was adorned with intricate, glowing symbols that seemed to shift and change, hinting at a power beyond comprehension. This entity was not a creature of light and hope, but of shadow and chaos. It was a force of nature, raw and untamed, a symbol of destruction and rebirth.
"So, another one decided to go with you," the archivist said, taking in the situation. "Alright, you have to decide what to do with each of them." The Archivist looked up at the ceiling, her expression grim. "Time is almost up," she said, her voice urgent. "Once you return to the real world, you'll have a few minutes to slip back to your room unnoticed. I expect you to find at least one of the forgotten within the next seven years."
Her gaze turned intense. "They're out there, remnants of a shattered cosmos. You'll feel an otherworldly pull, a resonance that echoes through time. They are like phantom frequencies, lost souls adrift in a cosmic sea. They might be near, or in the farthest reaches of existence. Trust your instincts, but fear the darkness that birthed them. They are not merely lost, but beings of ancient, unfathomable power. You are their last hope, but also their greatest peril."
A shadow crossed her face. "But beware. The Forgotten are not harmless. Their power is immense, and they've been dormant for too long. Prepare yourself. You'll need more than luck to survive encounters with them."
As she finished, the surroundings began to crumble. "Good luck, kid," she said, her voice fading as the world around them disintegrated.
Suddenly, Vastian found himself on the circle, the building's door already open. Stepping outside, he saw the mist hadn't dissipated, the figures within still lurking, as if guarding the building and his ritual. He recalled the Archivist's words and broke into a run towards his room. Something the Archivist had said troubled him deeply – the seal placed on him at birth. As far as he knew, being close to his mother during his birth was practically impossible. A chilling thought occurred to him: What if the seal had been placed by someone in his own family?
If he was right, revealing his freedom from the seal would be tantamount to inviting a tempest. Whatever sinister purpose had necessitated the seal, those responsible would not hesitate to unleash a storm of retribution. The realization of his liberation could ignite a conflagration, a desperate gamble to reclaim their lost control.
When he attempted to enter the house, one of the shadowy figures in the mist halted him with a gesture toward the right. Understanding the silent command, Vastian veered in that direction. The mist parted obediently, allowing him to reach his bedroom window. There, a mist-like entity had already forced the window open, and a larger, shadowy form assisted him in climbing through. As soon as he was inside, the eerie green moonlight began to normalize. Leaping onto his bed, he feigned sleep.
The mist began to dissipate, and normalcy gradually returned. Soon, the sound of his brothers' bedroom doors opening echoed through the house, followed by his older brother's hurried footsteps. That night would be a cornerstone of inexplicable events in modern history. The following day, an eerie silence enveloped the Hek household. No one spoke of what had transpired.
Meanwhile, Vastian was absent from the family. He spent the night in deep meditation, communing with the spirits. He had glimpsed their potential, their raw power, but harnessing it required more than raw instinct. To truly understand and control these entities, he needed to forge a tangible connection.