As Kanin’s mind blooms into existence inside my head, I’m immediately aware that we are not alone. A second presence appears alongside the one that is so distinctly Kanin, but this other mind feels less solid, more ethereal—though its feelings of distaste for me are clear enough.
Not to mention, its strength.
The Dungeon Core is strong—I’ve grappled for control over its abilities more than once. But it’s also something that is fairly removed; something I can shut out of my mind, should I wish. The connection I feel between Kanin and this other entity is much more closely bound. And this entity’s influence on Kanin’s mind is much, much stronger.
The presence rapidly moves toward me, and a feeling of danger grows with it.
“Oh,” I think, trying to project a sense of calm that I don’t entirely feel. I quickly throttle my connections to Ollie, Mirzayael, and the Dungeon Core, not wanting to alarm any of them. “Is that your remnant?”
A current of annoyance ripples from Kanin. “Yes. It’s named Ink. Ink, don’t be a douche.”
The remnant, Ink, reacts to Kanin’s comment with extreme offense. The reply is so unexpectedly human, that I can’t help but laugh—or maybe my reaction is merely to cover my nerves.
“Nice to meet you, Ink,” I say, forcing myself to lower some of my walls in an offering of peace. “I promise I’ve no ill intent.”
Ink watches me warily, and I think I can sense the briefest flicker of malicious thoughts. Kanin’s irritation spikes at this, and I get the impression that the two are embroiled in a brief, private argument. If I wanted to, I’m sure I could reach out and listen in, but not without them being aware of my eavesdropping. So I simply wait and watch, ready to react if necessary, but otherwise trusting Kanin to know what he’s doing.
When their conversation ends, Ink’s presence draws back. It’s still watchful and cautious, but no longer threatening. If anything, it almost feels like it’s pouting.
Witnessing its interactions with Kanin fascinates me. Ink is so different from the Dungeon Core—and even Sandro’s Shroud. This remnant seems more dangerous, but also more… complex, I think.
Kanin’s attention turns back to me, exasperated and apologetic. Even the way he’s communicating with me just now, offering his feelings and abstract thoughts rather than speaking in concrete words, is something like the way I communicate with the Dungeon Core. It’s more natural, actually, and more direct than going through the filter of language, but neither Ollie nor Mirzayael speak to me that way. I wonder if he picked the habit up from Ink.
“You know something about Echo,” I finally say, offering a place for our private conversation to start. “I also believe the gods are not aware of her existence, to some extent. Which is strange, as I do believe they have access to the System no different from us.”
“Uh, yeah,” Kanin thinks, a strange mix of hesitant and determined. “I think that’s one thing I can explain. But I’ll need to back up a bit first.”
“Take your time,” I assure him. “There’s no rush.”
He’s grateful, but also anxious. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to be having this conversation. But he’s also impatient and hates prolonging everything, and it’s this impatience that wins out. With a swell of forced conviction, he drags a series of buried feelings and memories to the forefront of his mind.
“So, I died.” Kanin begins sorting through the memories like a pack of cards; he selects one and offers it to me. “And like the rest of you, I ended up Between. But that’s where things went sideways.”
As Kanin explains, sometimes with words, sometimes with feelings, sometimes with memories, I gingerly accept the thoughts that he offers, watching and experiencing his story like an attendee to the most intimate movie theater in existence. I’ve never experienced thoughts like this. Despite being a Psion myself, it occurs to me that Kanin has a deeper connection to his psyche than I’ve ever achieved. A result of his connection to Ink, perhaps.
As Kanin said, it started after he died and ended up in the Between. This was the place I ended up, I now realize, after I had died, too. A place where all souls go before passing on to the afterlife—I’m not sure if this is something I already knew, or something I feel I already knew because of Kanin’s memories. Regardless, when Kanin ended up there, he hadn’t been alone.
There was another soul—the soul of an elf, Noli, who had also become trapped in some sort of interdimensional spell. They both became suspended in the Between. And it was there that Ink had attacked them.
Ink inserts itself into this retelling, irritated with Kanin’s inaccurate account. It wasn’t Ink—or, it hadn’t become Ink yet. It was some other creature. Still a remnant, but much larger than Ink. Much less human. Much more hungry.
Kanin and Ink call this not-Ink entity ‘the predator’. And it was the predator that bound itself to Kanin’s soul before Kanin and Noli were drawn out of the Between.
It turns out the spell they were trapped in belonged to a wizard from this world, simply attempting to collect mana from the Between to power his glass homunculus. Kanin’s soul ended up in the homunculus core, while Noli’s soul spilled over into a clockwork toy.
The story seems to fast-forward from there. There are moments when I can tell I’m not getting the full story—where Kanin feels steeped in a horrible sadness, and Ink is tinged with discomfort. Something bad happened at these moments, and though neither tell me exactly what occurred, it isn’t hard for me to piece it together; the predator killed people, I think, and through its connection to Kanin, it made Kanin kill people by extension.
It’s interesting to me that, despite Ink clearly being the predator in some form of another, it doesn’t seem to identify with the actions of this entity. The answer to this enigma becomes more clear as the story unfolds.
Zyneth appears—he helped Kanin find allies, and he even faced the predator at his side, helping to trap the remnant in Kanin’s Inventory. Kanin was able to help reunite Noli with her body, but without a way to get back to Earth, Kanin couldn’t do the same for himself.
So he set off on a quest to achieve this. Those memories are also colored with regret: a bullheaded determination that became both self destructive and damaging to his friends. Kanin feels a deep sense of shame throughout this portion of the story, yet Ink feels strangely the opposite. It reflects on this time with a level of curiosity I didn’t know a remnant could possess. This was when a portion of the predator—or Ink—or something in between the two—began interacting more with Kanin on level footing and started to develop a sense of independence.
Kanin’s mission to reclaim his body led him to a Ruin that connected to the Between, and through it Kanin attempted to find his way back to Earth. He even managed to make the connection—to find where he’d left his body.
I ache with an acute, ethereal pain as Kanin’s memories flow through me. He found his body, but it was far too late; he’d been dead for months on Earth, and his body was gone. There was nothing for Kanin to return to.
It was during this moment that the predator escaped Kanin’s Inventory, shredding all but one slot. Starved of magic, it once more took control of Kanin’s mind and soul, forcing him to keep the bridge to Earth open—and collecting all the souls that died in that sliver of time.
With a start, I realize that this is where my story on this world begins. I was one of those trapped souls who was nearly consumed by the predator. In fact, I recall a moment where I felt another presence among the malice—a distraught soul, terrified and full of regret. Kanin. I’d met him then, even if I hadn’t known who or what he was.
The memories become fractured after that, like neither Kanin nor Ink can quite recall the exact events of what happened. Zyneth fought to subdue the predator. Kanin did what he could to subvert the remnant’s control. And together, they managed to cause an explosion that blew the predator apart, releasing all its captured souls into Lusio—including me.
But only a portion of the predator was still attached to Kanin’s soul after this. A smaller, damaged, confused portion. A portion that would eventually resolve into Ink, when it had enough self identity to pick a name for itself.
The memories fade from my mind, the ache of Kanin’s emotions retreat as he moves to more concrete thoughts.
“That’s the long and short of it,” Kanin finally says. “The last I saw, the souls dispersed into the world. Echo told me that since they had been brought here through magic that was designed to find and retrieve my body, the souls here were likewise finding other suitable vessels to adhere to. I assumed they’d all ended up in objects like me. I still don’t really understand how you all got bodies.”
“Amazing,” I breathe, still reeling from everything Kanin’s shared. My mind seems to be spinning a mile a minute, drawing connections and solidifying theories I’ve long held. He’s the reason I’m here—the reason all of us are here. And he’s been shouldering all of that, both the good and the bad, this whole time.
“This explains much of what I have wondered about,” I muse. “I think I know the answer to the body enigma, actually.”
“Really?” Kanin flushes with an eager curiosity. Ink is there, too, listening like a child peeking over his shoulder.
“I could be wrong, but I’ve confirmed the theory with another mage, and she seemed to think I was onto something.” I think back to the conversation I held with Lisari on this subject before. She laughed at my theory then, but even she admitted it had merit.
“You see,” I tell Kanin, “in this world, magic can be converted directly into matter. It takes a lot of mana, but it can be done. Similar to how babies are made.”
Kanin’s mind performs the mental equivalent of a record skip. He stumbles over my words, backs up, goes blank for a moment, and then finally hits a wall of disbelief. “Similar to how what?”
I can’t help but laugh. I’d reacted much the same when Mirzayael had explained it to me. “You didn’t already know? I admit I was also a bit surprised when I found out. But yes: In addition to the method we’re familiar with on Earth, here partners can pool their mana in order to form a new soul. Once the soul is formed, additional mana is converted into matter to form the body around the soul. Quite useful for partners of different species!”
Kanin’s mind appears to be spiraling in disbelief. With him currently unable to fully articulate any concrete thoughts, I decide to elaborate on my theory.
“In our case, we already had souls. So all that was needed was the mana-to-matter half of the equation. I had previously wondered where such an enormous quantity of magic might have come from in order to facilitate the growth of over a hundred bodies—but your story here was the last piece of the puzzle!” I begin to grow excited as every theory and magical principle I’ve contemplated fit snugly in place, creating a larger tapestry of understanding. “Of course it must have come directly from a magic source. Not to mention, I understand that null magic has to do with space and matter and binding. All ingredients for creating a new body and securing a soul to it. It makes perfect sense!”
I’m so excited by this revelation that I’ve hardly noticed Kanin’s mounting mortification. “I don’t understand,” he weakly interrupts. “Are you saying you guys were birthed into this world?”
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“I suppose that’s one way to think about it, yes,” I admit. “Thanks to you and Ink, here, who provided the mana to make it possible.”
It’s only when I’ve said this that I realize what I’m implying, and why Kanin feels so horrified. Ink seems confused, however. It prods at our conversation, trying to understand what is causing Kanin’s mortification, but Kanin rapidly repels Ink’s presence and haphazardly packs his thoughts away to keep them from both the remnant and myself. It’s too late for me, however; I’ve realized the same thing Kanin has. In some sort of abstractly magical sense, it could be said that Kanin and Ink facilitated all these new souls to be born into the world.
Of course, it’s not the exact same method; traditionally, Lusio parents create the souls as well, whereas in this case, the souls already existed, and Kanin and Ink just provided enough mana gathered from the Between to create empty bodies for the souls to reside in. However, I doubt this will mollify Kanin. I decide to pretend to be ignorant of what I’ve just implied, and save the man from further mortification.
“So,” Kanin thinks in mild panic, still pushing away Ink’s confused questions. “How many Inventory spaces do you have?”
An abrupt change of subject is probably for the best. “The Dungeon Core—that’s my remnant—has thousands,” I say. “But I personally only have one. The same is true for Sandro and Ollie. Ah, I see where you’re going with this.”
Kanin’s mind finally seems to settle back down as his attention shifts to this safer subject. “The predator shredded my Inventory, leaving one slot, just before all the souls fell Between. And I named the System voice Echo, so I had someone I could address when talking to it. You all also have an Echo and one Inventory slot. It’s like the interface you guys ended up with is a copy of mine.”
“A template,” I agree, mulling the idea over. “That would make sense, considering it was also your spell that resulted in us obtaining new bodies. The System must have used yours as the base. This is also how I think we individually got the bodies we did.”
Kanin tips his head. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t believe our bodies were random,” I say. “Or rather, I don’t believe these bodies were randomly created. The body I currently have bears a striking resemblance to one of the Fyrethian’s ancient leaders—and I first woke up in her tomb.”
Kanin reacts with faint alarm. “So you think, with Ollie…?”
“We found him underground in a sealed cave,” I explain, feeling Kanin reach the same conclusion I have as well. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there had been a dragon skeleton there—possibly fossilized—before Ollie’s soul ended up in the vicinity.”
Kanin becomes thoughtful. “After Blair learned how I got here, she said something about this explaining why so many Travelers ended up with or near a remnant.”
Ah, it finally all comes together! “Because we all passed through yours. I don’t know if that means we… took some piece of it with us? But it does seem that these entities are drawn toward one another—so the fact that many of us were reborn close to some of these remnants would make sense.”
It’s relieving to have gained so many answers to my questions and confirmations of so many theories. But I can sense the question Kanin has before he even asks it, and it’s one I still have as well.
“Do you know what these remnants are?” he wonders. “Why they’re drawn to each other? Why the gods are so scared of them?”
I smile sadly. “I was hoping that was one thing you could answer for me.”
Kanin chuckles to himself, and I can related; the most important question of all, and we’re both still in the dark. But he becomes contemplative after that, lapsing into a thoughtful silence as she sorts through everything he’s learned, and I find myself doing the same.
This man is the cause of why Ollie, Sandro, and I are here. Well, it’s more accurate to say he’s the cause of our reincarnation, instead of passing on to… whatever happens after. Of course, it had been an accident on his part, but I wouldn’t be here without him. It’s amazing how a chain of random and misguided choices can result in such an incredibly impactful effect.
I look upon Kanin’s mind with warm gratitude and affection. This young man has been through so much, and where others might have collapsed beneath the weight of their regret, he’s still striving to move forward—to do better—to make things right.
Yet, his mind still feels steeped in regret. Doesn’t he know how much he’s done for us already?
“Is the kid doing okay?” Kanin finally asks, his thoughts more reserved. “I mean, this has got to be an adjustment for him.”
“Ollie?” I don’t want to make Kanin’s feelings worse, but I also don’t think it would be fair for me to lie to him. “It’s been a bumpy ride. I’m still not sure if he really understands that he’ll likely never see his parents again. It’s hard to tell if he’s actually accepted it, or if he’s in denial. Or perhaps he’s keeping some of these feelings from me. I haven’t gone prying, but…”
Now I’m the one feeling regret. No child should have to go through what Ollie has endured. The child deserves the world, and I wish I could give it to him.
“Oh.” Kanin’s mind turns both sad and embarrassed. “I’m sorry. That’s…”
It seems an odd mix of feelings for what we’ve just been discovering. “Is everything alright?”
“It’s nothing,” Kanin says, his embarrassment increasing, even as he attempts to disguise it. He’s not quite as good at hiding his feelings from others as I am; he probably hasn’t had near as much practice. “It’s just, I was actually wondering about how he’s adjusted to his new body.”
His body? Oh. “Oh!” I can’t help but laugh. Of course Kanin was talking about Ollie no longer residing in a human body—I’m sure that’s something that’s frequently on Kanin’s own mind. It will be good for the two to get to know each other and talk about their experiences, I think.
“He’s taken to that quite well,” I reply. “I mean, transforming into a dragon is just about every kid’s dream come true, isn’t it?” Even so, I find my own worries creeping in. “Though I do wonder how he’ll feel as he grows older. I don’t want him to miss out on any meaningful experiences because of what he’s become. If he ever falls in love, will they be able to love him back? If he gets sick, will I be able to find someone who knows how to heal him? How can I prepare him to grow up when I don’t even know what that will look like?”
Abruptly, I become aware of Kanin's own aching empathy. Of course he’s probably had some of these thoughts about himself. “I know I’m worrying about futures that may never happen,” I say, weakly attempting to steer the subject away, “but I want to help him live his best life, whatever that may be.”
“I’m sorry,” Kanin says, his thoughts quiet. I almost have to move closer to hear them—and when I do, I realize he’s holding feelings back from me. But there are cracks in his wall, and sorrow and regret are leaking through in painfully concentrated waves. “I’m so, so sorry I put all of you through this. And yeah, I know, ‘it was an accident,’ but that doesn’t erase what I did. I wish I could take it back.”
I pause, surprised. He isn’t just regretful for the harm he caused to his friends, I realize—he doesn’t regret leaving his body behind. It’s us he regrets. He regrets bringing us here. He regrets subjecting some of us—like Ollie—to the same body horror he’s been grappling with.
With the hand I’m not using to touch Kanin’s core, I take one of his hands and squeeze it, emanating all the understanding and appreciation I can muster. “You’re being too hard on yourself. And you know, not everyone ended up in a body that was uncomfortable to them. I’m pretty sure even if Ollie went back to Earth, he’d still want to be a dragon.”
Yet, Kanin only seems to sink further into his regret. “And what about you? I mean, you’ve got wings and claws and are covered in feathers now. I doubt that’s something you were accustomed to on Earth.”
I chuckle, trying to erode his pain with warm, comforting thoughts of my own. Not through Emotional Radiance—I don’t want to force him to feel any particular way. But I want him to understand that he has nothing to regret, at least where it comes to Ollie and I.
“You’re correct about that,” I reply in amusement, flexing my wings in a fiery display. “The feathers have been an adjustment. I just keep losing them everywhere. And it took some time to figure out my wings.”
Then, I hesitate. It feels like such a private thing to admit, but I want him to understand that he hasn’t doomed us to a harder life, as he seems to think. I can feel him watching, though, sense his curiosity as he senses the hesitation within me. Well, he’s poured his heart out to me over the last half hour. It only seems fair I should offer the same.
“Not all the changes have been bad,” I finally say, a flutter of nervous and excited anticipation passing through me. “More than just my species has undergone a significant change. You see, on Earth, I lived as a man.”
Unfortunately, this confession has the opposite effect from what I intended.
Surprise passes through Kanin, which quickly evolves into horror. His thoughts break free of his tenuous control, spilling into my mind as well.
Oh god. How could he have done this to me? I must hate him. I must have experienced what he has—the horror of an alien, unfamiliar body, the loss of his sense of self. Crushing self loathing wraps itself around him before I can even try to stop it.
“No!” I cry aloud, squeezing his hand. “Please don’t think that. Let me finish.”
Kanin aches with guilt. It’s a physical pain, but he says nothing as I object. He dutifully waits for me to continue. He doesn’t believe he has any right to argue with anything I have to say.
These thoughts make me ache as well, though it is not myself I’m hurting for. This poor man. I had Ollie from the start—but he spent months alone grappling with the deep disconnect he felt with his body.
And then he spent the next six months believing he did the same to a hundred other souls as well.
“I spent my life identifying as a man,” I tell him. “Because, I suppose, I didn’t quite understand there was an alternative. This sense of wrongness was always trailing me, no matter where I went or what I achieved. I couldn’t ever pin down why—not until I was reborn here. I never was particularly uncomfortable in my skin as a human, so it was difficult for me to pinpoint where this sense of discomfort was coming from. I’m not sure if I ever would have figured it out if I hadn’t ended up here, in a very different body. That was what first got me to begin exploring the idea that I might be a woman. And I suppose I’ve always been one, even if I hadn’t understood it at the time. On Earth, it was as if I were covered in chains, weighing me down, and now, here, I feel so light. I’m free. I’m me.”
Relief washes over Kanin’s mind as I explain my circumstances, and I, too, am relieved to feel his horror fade.
“I’m happy for you,” he wearily says. “I don’t know if it was luck that you ended up in the body you did, or if there was something deeper that the System found. But I hope everyone else’s story is similar to yours—I don’t know what I’d do if I learned someone else ended up like me.” And once more, his mind becomes steeped in regret, turning to someone he believes he really did condemn.
I shake my head. He’s going to drown in all this self-pity if I let him. “Kanin, you have to stop that,” I tell him, compassionate yet firm. “At some point, you’re going to need to forgive yourself. What’s done is done. And I wouldn’t take it back if I had the power to do so. Did you forget that all of us are people who died? Our lives were already over.”
Kanin’s mind resists the idea that what he did for our souls might be a good thing. I don’t think I can convince him otherwise in one afternoon. But perhaps I can get him to open himself to the idea. Perhaps I can help him start to heal.
I share with him the emptiness I felt on Earth, and the love and hope and compassion I’ve experienced since coming here. He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t rebuff my feelings either. He just listens and feels.
Gently, I remove my hand from his core, and Psionic Touch comes to an end. I look up at the glass that acts as his head and offer him the warmest, kindest smile I can muster.
“You didn’t condemn anyone,” I say, wrapping my arms and wings around him in a feathery hug. “You gave us a second chance at life.”
Kanin stands there silently for a moment, then he grips me back, squeezing me tightly in his hard, cold grasp. His glass rattles for a moment, and if he were capable of doing so, I suspect he might have cried.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
We stand that way for a long time.
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