— The Index
***
And so, Zayn sat beside a lake, under a white tree, feeling the wind brush his skin and the sunlight bathe it. The absolutely perfect spot for mediation and allocation of his points.
Free points: 08
Intelligence mattered—purely for aesthetics. It had looked odd on his status screen to have a stat still in single digits. Five uneven fingers? Fine. Missing one entirely? That would ruffle anyone’s feathers.
That problem had long been solved.
Now that he had fourteen points in Intelligence, it didn’t really look all that odd. Why should he allocate all of his points to Intelligence? He can just put one in Constitution. It was fine!
Constitution has increased by 1!
Growth mana raced through his veins again, waiting for confirmation. He breathed low and reminded himself again that it was important to improve Intelligence, because it helped mind and body coordination, improved skill casting time and comprehension, and was very useful for wielding mana better. But he still had seven points remaining, yeah?
He could allot the rest of it to Intelligence!
Fortitude has increased by 1!
It was more important to be able to tank even more hits. In fact, more Fortitude, please. Toughen his muscles. Make them steel hard!
Intelligence can go fetch oil.
In the first place, his class was of the Berserker archetype. Intelligence didn’t readily increase his power. He was more likely to be served better by more Fortitude or Constitution. His benefactor, while very smart, was not above bias. He was even told to choose weaker classes because they would eventually become strong enough. But the truth was, he’d be long dead if he hadn’t chosen Red Rager.
Free points: 06
So, he let the energy course through his veins and decided that he’d put them all in Fortitude and Constitution again, and maybe a one in Vitality.
The energy crashed through his body, reaching every single muscle and fiber. Just as he was about to confirm for Fortitude again, a soft noise interrupted him.
Tang!
The noise of something striking the water.
A very small thing.
Even with closed eyes, he felt the waves spreading outward. Inside him, his mana echoed the motion.
What?
He frowned and attempted to allot a point in fortitude again.
Tang!
The scene repeated.
The sound of rock striking water disrupted his internal mana movement, making the already hard task of allotting points even harder.
Tang!
He snapped his eyes open to look at the source of the disturbance and frowned.
Out of nowhere, Old Gravekeeper sat beside him and began the recreational activity of “throwing stones” into water. Perhaps an important cardio for old people...like him.
Why beside him, though?
Raising another stone, Old Grave shot it into the pond.
Tang!
It jolted him from the inside.
“Oi!”
Gravekeeper leisurely asked, “Do you think the pond remembers?”
Zayn was sure his intelligence was dumbed down by another point by that question alone.
“How would a pond remember?”
His eyes were drawn to the rock hovering above the old man’s palm. Without any mana usage. The old man raised a stone with nothing but the power of…well, what? Delusion? Insanity?
Clearly Telekinesis.
Not only could he read people's minds, but he could also move things with his mind, too. A bit surprising, but not too much.
“Perhaps that stone was too small to remember.” The old man nodded, and from the back, a big piece of boulder flew out, striking the pond right in the middle like a meteor. He asked again, “Do you think it would remember that? That was pretty big.”
Zayn shot the smiling old man an odd look.
Yesterday’s Zayn would’ve dismissed him as senile. But today's Zayn had extra points in intelligence, so he knew the old man hid much more than he let on.
What was he trying to tell him?
Gravekeeper shrugged, “Perhaps even that…is forgettable.”
The ground quaked. With a rumble, an entire tree was uprooted behind them. Zayn gaped as the tree was shot out like a rocket and crashed into the pond. Water rebounded, expanding outwards in waves. Striking the sides where they were.
“Would that hurt the pond?”
“No!” Zayn shouted as the water drenched his feet. “Unless this is a sentient pond, which it might as well be. But why are you out here antagonizing a pond—”
Zayn stopped.
He stared at the old man with intent, waiting for him to answer.
“Now you are finally listening.” The old man nodded. He raised his hands.
The ripples in the air stabilized, and he felt the flow properties of everything become weird.
Everything seemed strangely halted. As though someone had put a time stop spell on the lake and its surroundings. Following the air, the water calmed down, its earlier chaos fading into absolute calmness.
“So I ask you again, would you say the pond remembers?”
“Yeah, sure,” Zayn pointed at the calm ‘pond’. “It got a whole ass tree stuck inside now.”
“Yet everything appears to be calm on the surface. Doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, but there is a tree stuck inside of it, and a huge boulder, and many…many…smaller rocks.” Zayn grew pensive as he finished his sentence.
“Yet everything appears the same on the surface.” The old man turned towards Zayn and smiled, “Wouldn’t it just forget if it keeps pretending…everything is okay?”
Zayn frowned. Despite his eyes being closed, he felt a gaze intensely pierce through him.
“What if it just pretends to forget the wounds…wouldn’t everything be okay eventually? As long as it keeps running from the wounds, it would be okay, right? If it jokes the pain away. If it just forgets it all—”
“Alright. I get it!” Zayn barked. This wasn’t about the pond.
This was about him.
“Do you?” The old man smiled, “Yet, you run from the truth all the same.”
“You don’t know me, old man.” He said as he walked off. “I never run.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
This was why one shouldn’t speak to old, senile men in the middle of the jungle. They spout out just about anything. What did he even know about him?
“Is that so?”
His pace quickened. “Stop following me!”
The old man hovered in the air, right in front of him, meeting him at eye level, “You smile. You joke. You pretend nothing hurts. But inside of you is a war zone, regrets haunt you, and your dreams—”
“You don’t know that!” He shouted. “You old bastard! ”
“Oh, I do. I know because you and I—” Gravekeeper pointed at Zayn and…then at himself, “—are…not so different."
Zayn halted, his breath uneven.
Somehow... he had run back to the same pond. But this time, the wind was no longer frozen. It caressed the pond softly, making gentle waves appear on the surface.
“Our life is like that pond.” Gravekeeper smiled sadly, “Some people are the wind, soft and loving. A few will be harsher…like those rocks. They leave a hole you carry with you forever.”
The pond became restless again, the waves crashing unnaturally. The tree was yet again revealed in full, stuck inside the pond.
“but more often than not, it is we who hurt ourselves the most. We accept the blame, act like everything is fine, and try to be someone we are not."
The waves struck the sides of the pond, cracking the edges, making the pond bigger and uneven.
“In the end, we end up even forgetting who we really are.”
Zayn felt his heart stop. His breath come in bursts. He met the old man face to face, who smiled with the same kindness as he'd shown him on day one.
“You must remember it all.”
His body quivered and shivered at the thought.
How could he survive the days…remembering all that? How could he sleep at night knowing he was the one who ruined himself?
Forgetting was how he survived the years of isolation. If he remembered it all, how could he live with himself?
“Fire is the expression of your soul.” Old grave gave the final nudge, “To know your fire, you must first stop fighting yourself.”
***
“So I just have to start fighting others instead!” Zayn decided, standing in front of the umbrella of trees.
No joke, he took the old man’s advice to heart. For a while, he’d thought about what was said to him.
But it was easier said than done.
Whenever he tried to allot points to intelligence, his body gave out. He couldn’t just undo something that has been ingrained within him for years. It fucked his psyche up.
So here he was. Trying to unfuck that situation.
He had equipped himself with enough protection: degraded shoulder pads, chest pieces, gauntlets, knee caps, and all. The ones he got earlier. None enchanted, but they would do for the coming battle.
Drawing a deep breath, he stepped into the void. Where not even an iota of light broke through. Where greedy but fearful stares seared holes into him, wanting to tear him apart. Yet, they stood at a distance.
They were waiting…for him to sink deeper.
Zayn sauntered in, putting on a brave front. Soot and ash scraped his throat. The void swallowed him whole. It's familiar, rotten breath striking on his face.
Seeing he no longer held the patch of sigil, their stares grew rampant, whispering grew louder, impatient—perhaps discussing whether he would taste better broiled or grilled. Imagining himself on skewers, his muscles squirmed.
He scolded himself.
“Breathe, you need to stand on your feet long enough for this to work,” These words he’d already told himself, over and over.
The murmurs grew deafeningly loud. Their stares cut like knives into his skin. The roof of his throat dried. Except for his heart, every bit of his body squirmed, screaming at him to run away. To go far and never return.
“Shut up.” He scolded himself. Bloodmetal sealed his face completely, stopping all voices. He didn’t activate ‘I see it through’.
He did not need it here.
[WindStrider] had long since erupted. Ever since he got his eye skill, he’d begun to forget this feat had once saved his life. It was still good. Air stretched into his nerves, once again showing him things his eyes never could.
Vibrations, resonance, invisible waves, he connected to them.
In the depth of the void and gloom, pitch-dark figures writhed. Twisting abominations. Tendrils bundled into sickening limbs that ended with claws, blades, and swords. On their torso was a single eye that wept ichor and ash.
They hung between greed and hesitation.
Zayn put oil into the fire.
“Didn’t I tell you—” He smirked, “that I’ll fucking raze you to the ground?”
That was oil enough.
The first of the treants lost its temper. Lunged towards him. Vines slashed down on his bracelets with a furious intent, lighting up sparks in the void.
The second came immediately after, and he soon lost himself in the battle, parrying and striking the treants using just his body.
Lost in the battle, his breathing became even. His tight muscles loosened up, his feet grew lighter, and his mind and body became one. Sylvian Weapon Arts allowed him to fight competently and defend himself, sending deadly strikes with his fists alone.
Even then, against tens of them, he was very quickly overwhelmed. Too much sensory information to make sense of it. Too much to think.
All thoughts were drawn out of him like a deflated balloon, leaving him with a strange tranquility.
The growth mana in his abdomen finally moved peacefully. He struck away, too busy to feel anything. All his attention was put into surviving the fight.
And then, only then, the mana moved as per his will. Only then did his body not revolt.
Intelligence has increased by 1!
He fell, struck by a few hot strikes.
From the unkempt library of his mind, books of his failures and regrets began to be drawn out and opened for him to see. Memories that once kept him awake, staring at the ceiling at 3 in the night, making him wonder where it all went wrong.
Intelligence has increased by 1!
Jokes he didn’t understand once became clear, things he didn’t remember before. Theories that strained his mind began to make sense.
One by one, he was done with six of his points.
He huffed and puffed, blood coagulating out of every orifice of his body. Tasting his sweat and tears, he readied himself.
First part of the plan, complete!
Even Zayn wasn’t mad enough to leap back here just to allot the stats. Not his sole objective, at least.
He came here to kill two birds with one stone.
Class quest IV - Understand an
To know fire, he needed to feel fire. Right? That’s what Gravekeeper said. Even Northwalker had implied such a method worked. But in this jungle, there really was no way to feel any fire anywhere.
But what if he didn’t have to feel the fire on the outside?
What if he...felt on the inside?
Ignoring the few treants, he began treading deeper. A few of them weren’t enough for the next stage.
Bloodmetal had already burst out and plated his body, protecting his vitals. Now he just had to connect it. The plates joined to the pauldrons, breastplate, and the gauntlet, creating a semi-double-plated armour on himself.
Yet, its true function was not protection, but to generate friction. To create heat.
Clang
When the first lick of heat reached his veins, he grinned, stepping deeper. The treants stepped back, their vines twitching. Their whispers were muted.
They grew fearful of his madness.
“What?” He hurrumphed, “The mighty Fae army of thirty-three thousand is still scared of that one guy?”
Silence roamed all around, like the calm before the storm. Their mutterings grew insistent, murderous, hateful. Roaring, the horde descended at last, like piranhas scenting blood. Whip-Blades and claws swiped down on him en masse, intending to rip him in half.
Tough task. He had those of his own.
Clang!
Blood vines ripped out of his back while he himself held Hollowfang, slashing through the treants in a whirlpool, both front and back.
His skin, bolstered by his growing Constitution and Verdant Skin, had turned monstrously resilient. Still, he twisted and bent, ensuring he took down the evolving Treants first and foremost.
Clang!
Hundreds of razor cuts raked his skin open. Grinning, he descended deeper, swiping bloodmetal whips in a whirling movement. Each swipe burned through the Fae like fire burned dry tinder.
His armour nearly broke down from the continuous attacks, but he roared, forcing them back into place using bloodmetal. Cuts on his skin coagulated, turning into steel-hard scars. Every strike shifting into ribbons of heat.
Clang!
Not enough. He needed to feel the fire. More.
Fae blood siphoned! Genetic sample overload! Attempt Racial Evolution?
“No,” He fanned the fire. “Who’d want to be you?”
Tides of heat bounded inside his veins. He roared, forcing the blood to race in his veins, in and out of his heart at an alarming speed. Turning it around like a wheel. Then, faster. Faster.
His skin dried, cracking under the relentless heat. No longer did he strike back; he stood in place, trying to feel the fire. More injuries began to appear. A deep gush ripped on his back, reaching his bones. But he still stood, rooted in place.
‘Undying Cockroach’ is active!
“Still no fire in me?” He spat out a hot breath, scalding hot like magma. His flesh was burning, desperately sticking to his bones. Heat bloomed inside him, burning every fiber, muscle, sinew.
But still, there was no fire.
Blood wheeled across his veins, violently scarring his flesh. Even [Weeds] soon proved to be insufficient. He didn’t care, allowing the heat to reach deeper. To his very soul.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
He stood in a trance, feeling the world unravel, break just like him. Then, reality cracked underneath the surface, and beneath it revealed something.
A realm of flames. Endless, everlasting flames.
Fire of love, hatred, and vengeance. Fire of desire and jealousy. Fire of hope and regeneration. All the fire in the universe stared at him, right this instant.
The fire of love was the first to look away. He had never loved enough. Always, he ran away to survive and maintain his feeble existence. Of course, it wasn’t enough.
The fires of hatred and vengeance refused to acknowledge him. Even Aubrin, his boss, the person he hated the most, was more of a minor inconvenience. Neither hate nor vengeance burned him.
The fire of passion stared for a bit longer, but eventually it looked away too. Much of his life, he’d only let go of things. He went from one passion to another, not hanging onto anything.
Jealousy, desire, obsession, one after another, all the fires turned away from him. None acknowledged him. None thought him worthy.
“You think I’m unworthy?!” He roared back at them. Magma traversed his veins through his broken and charred body. Nothing to stitch it all together. “I reject you, too!”
He lacked the spark? He would make it himself. Didn’t have the fire? He would burn himself. Right here, he would find his spark. Right this instant, he would understand fire.
Bloodmetal retracted. His armour broke down. But not a single Treant attacked anymore. He snapped his eyes open, staring at the morphed, fearful gazes.
The treants stepped back.
All the fires had vanished, except for a tiny spark on the verge of extinguishment. So pitifully small that it would go unnoticed in the existence of any other fire.
A spark that never grew into a full fire.
Yet it persisted, stuck between ignition and extinguishment. In its futile attempts were a vain wish to keep burning, for no reason than the act itself.
It stared at him, similarly awaiting his acknowledgement.
Weak.
It was too weak a fire. Not an aspect anyone understood. Not an aspect anyone would choose to be their first. It needed him, just like he needed it.
His cracked lips formed a smirk. “So be it.”
Blood wheeled in his body, becoming the fuel. The ignition began. His body formed the vessel. His heart its engine. And in his soul, he set the spark ablaze.
Feat [The First Spark] unlocked!
And finally, he gazed back at the treants. But now there was no more mocking, no more jeering. Now, they were frightened of him again.
“Then—” He raised his cracked hands, “Burn.”
With a snap of his finger, the spark that had never been given a chance was finally given form, burning within his body. Flame rushed out with him at its center and spread, becoming a wildfire.
Then, only a fire remained.
Only he remained.