Children of Terra

~Liberated from the bandits~ ~Piggybacking like a child~ ~Wrapped in a shroud~ ~Vykan, frail as like alive again~       Perception is an interesting concept to a human -- even one former like Vykan.  When you first become cold, the chill journey is felt in the nerves, sensed by the brain.  But, once cold for a time, you begin the process of stimulus normalization.  The conditions become normal.  Baseline.  You forget temporarily what the old warm was like.  Such ideation was reintroduced to Vykan -- he didn't realize just how cold he was, until his body was wrapped in a cloth and foisted on the back of the red-haired warrior woman.  When he was cut free and first laid upon her back, he whimpered as like a pup.  Her skin, even through clothes, it burned him!  It must have been a pathetic sight as he trembled against her body; as his tight, shallow, breathing all-too-slowly evened when her warmth seeped into him.        He did not have the energy to be ashamed.  He pressed into her back, shivering intensely on the journey through the mountain forest.  Occasionally, he glanced ahead, watching how the other warrior -- also revealed as a woman, albeit in a red mask -- turned back occasionally in obvious tease.  That one led the chain-gang of beaten and bruised bandits on a near-indiscernible trail along the forest, while the one carrying Vykan did so with an ease which made him reflect.        The ground is unusually earthy, unlike the forests of home.  Classical.  Brown underbrush dirt and trunk, to green canopies.  Snow caps the mountains around, all in a land which sings of life and vigor.  Animals can be seen in abundance, birdsong and squirrel chitter.  And here I am clinging to a life I know is lie.  Already dead multiple times now, and yet her comforting warmth balms me.  Hah.  I wonder where we go?        A stir in his mind reminded him of Pruflas.  Still the air of weakness, but at least the demon was cognizant of the situation.        It was night the day of rescue when the party returned back to civilization.  The forest broke to a village bordering humble, with the building Vykan taken to a large wooden multistory on the outskirts of the town.  Night was blue lit from the moon, lighting the dirt paths through the forest easily.  Orange firelight filtered through most windows of buildings, beyond a small creek separating the multistory and village.  While he was being carried to the multistory entrance, the other warrior called to his savior from the dirt path in front of the place.        "Gyeoul-Ah!  I'm taking the scum to Black Rabbit Union."  That one tugged the chains, making the bandits all whimper as they staggered after her back into the forest.        Vykan heard his savior clearly for the first time as she replied.  "I'll wait here for your return, sister!"  Her voice rumbled within his head, making him wince.  With a wave to each other, one parted, and the other took Vykan inside.        It was finely ornamented, furniture dotting the place.  Bustle of people sweeping between tables and stools, with red as the primary color of furniture here.  Was this a restaurant?  Food and drink were being handed out with enough density to suggest part of that, but the woman -- Gyeoul-Ah -- swept past, taking him upstairs and into a manner of private suite.  Unfastening the bundle he was in from her torso, she laid him on a bed, having to tuck him in without missing a beat after.  Then she gave a nod and left.  So quiet.         Only as she was leaving, did he notice blood from his own nosebleed on her shoulder.  And yet she had no hint of frustration as she closed the door behind.  Her demeanor made him feel some manner of deep shame, like he was a barbarian anew.        The thought didn't last long.  Vykan felt his body cool immediately; once separated from her as even under multiple layers of blankets, the shivers returned in just minutes.  Spending what little strength he had, he curled against himself, trapping heat as best he could.  When was the last time he lay in a bed?  Months? . . . Years?  It was all a blur anymore: Telkhine, America, the Megacities, Europe, the long travels between.  That fucking dimensional travel . . . and the thoughts didn't help the headaches.  It wasn't long for him to fall asleep in a proper bed, for once.        His dreams are all the same.  Always a clutch to the past.  To the time before.  He awoke in a flush, grasping at what never was; and Vykan always hated the feeling of loss at his errant dreams returning to their forgotten repose.  The rapid pulse of his morning thymia made him roll to his side, under the covers, clenching his fists in weariness.  His limbs were twitching.  Oh please.  No more.  It was to his immense relief that Pruflas knocked upon the psyche then.        Fucking hell.  I've been between worlds before, many times.  That was atrocious.  The mental imposition of Pruflas taking an imaginary bedside seat formed in Vykan's psyche.        Vykan did not move -- not even his eyes.  He had no need with a psychic connection.  I fucking hate this shit . . . Hey, you actually know Achilles, right?  Does he have to deal with the shortcomings of Styx?        A mind-laugh.  No and no.  Achilles had divine blood before Styx; he was a child of a river nymph.  Descendant of the primordial embodiments.  Hah.  I would not compare yourself to Achilles.  You obviously know of his dip into Styx.  You miss the part Styx was not the first attempt by his mother Thetis to his immortality.        Vykan opened his eyes.  The room was still dark in morning blue, just the hint of light peeping through the wood-frame window.  What?        Thetis was obsessed with her divine child, of course.  Her first attempt was actually to lather him in ambrosia -- as you know, nectar of the gods -- and then secretly burn his infant body in night pyre.        Vykan never heard that one before.  But he was familiar with pyre offerings as common culture.  He affirmed the emotion, shoring his mental strength through withholding words.        The image of Pruflas shifted by the bed, nodding in thought.  Yes.  Achilles was ritualized in sacrifice by his mother.  That ritual was interrupted by his father Peleus.  I doubt then you know Achilles' first name, the one he had as a babe.  Pyrisous.  'Saved from the fire.'  This is important, Vykan.  Achilles was not dipped in Styx.  That was a revision by the bitter Romans long after Troy.        A torrent of emotion poured from Vykan.  Pruflas' image flickered as the demon switched to placating the tenuous man.  Vykan's arms and legs twitched in nerve misfires, but the calming motions by Pruflas eased him back to rest upon the bed.        Once sure Vykan would not seize again, Pruflas continued.  When Peleus saved young Pyrisous from the flames of Thetis, the father took the babe to Chiron.  You know that part.  It was then Peleus told Chiron what the child's intended name was.  Ligyron.  'The whining.'  Chiron was who named the child Achilles.  Do you see?  Chiron was a healer.  Pyrisous . . .         Vykan knew the meanings, as the mental subtleties were exchanged just as the words.  The child was burnt.  Harmed and dying from the flames.  Only Chiron was the hope.  Vykan felt tears form on his face.  What a bitter realization.        A feeling of placation from Pruflas by the bedside.  Like all Greek myths.  Yet there is more.  Oaths.  Oaths to the Greeks were a sacrament unto their gods, a binding, by which only horrible torment fit the breach thereof.  As I said before, Achilles was not literally dipped into Styx by his mother Thetis.  What happened was a prophecy; the one that a son of Thetis would be greater than his father.  Zeus wanted to pair with her, but upon hearing this prophecy -- fearing for his power -- he bade her marry a mortal.        Peleus?        Yes.  It was the prophecy and potential which impelled Thetis to burn her child's mortality away.  Long after then was the Roman revision which they used to exclaim the fight between Hector and Achilles unfair.  You asked if I knew Achilles?  I did not.  I was warden of Limbo, the uppermost ring of Inferno.  Achilles was wardened in Wrath.  I tell you that story because I know Hector.  The real Trojan is honorable.        There were questions yet Vykan had.  Before he could muster the thought, Pruflas elaborated.        Achilles had no mythical Stygian advantage against Hector.  Achilles was simply better.  He was undoubtedly a genius of his time, even by today's standard.  What the Romans explain as 'dipping into Styx' is a literal misinterpretation of prophetic portent behind Achilles.  He was fated to be greater than his father, his mother was a river nymph, and she swore to uphold that oath herself.  Remember oaths?  Styx is the river of binding oath.  And such little seed is how myths change.        Vykan felt some frustration there.  He never dipped in Styx?  What the fuck.        Pruflas laughed, which annoyed Vykan.  The Duke elaborated.  You don't know what Achilles actually translates to, do you?        It has a meaning?        His first two names are a clue, are they not?  Achilles is an epithet, given by Chiron.  'He who has yet touched lips to breast.'        Vykan chuckled.  Dark fucking humor.  Of course.  Goddamn Greeks.  He flipped to his other side, now facing the morning sunlight pouring from the window.  The motion sapped all his vigor, and now in the quietude he felt the clammy sheets beneath him in their disgusting slime.        To his back, Pruflas shared one more thought.  Achilles got his reputation through sheer talent.  He had the best mentors, the best experiences, divine blood, and the drive to conquer.  He was not invulnerable.  That was a facsimile by the embittered to attribute their enemy as ordained blessing over physical might.  It would do well for you to think on this as you rest.         The psychic connection clued Vykan in on Pruflas' hidden meaning.  So, you're off again?        I'll stay here long enough to impart the languages to you.  Chinese, even ancient, is not an easy thing to pick up on.  It will take time to mentor you, but I have a feeling I can work with the id on that.  It also serves to allow me to acclimate to this land, from inside and unseen.  I am here to gather knowledge on the arts of soul cultivation, something I neglected in the past, as I know it takes time -- vulnerable time -- and I did not have that luxury courtesy of my family.        The hunter mindset.  Vykan was reminded of how like a spider Pruflas was back in the tomb.        A feeling of agreement from Pruflas.  Yes.  It is time to begin our hunt of the demons.  We must prepare in our ways what's to come of it.  I hear the martial arts are just as profound here as the soul arts.  Try to view every event through a lens of learning.  Watch these people.  How they carry themselves.  How they fight.  We will know when we are ready.        That time ain't now, I can tell you that.  Vykan stared out of the window, as morning passed into day outside, falling back into restive silence.  He could feel the mental image of Pruflas by the bedside fade away in time, before the Stygian emptied his mind to focus his energies inward and against the illness.        Days passed.  Gyeoul-Ah had come by later the first day to check on him.  Finding the sheets ruined, she took them back then, and every day since.  All with an air of calm duty which made pitiable Vykan feel more and more useless.  He felt much the same now as first arriving.  In other words:  Sick as all shit.        Every morning was a twitching of limbs, a hitch of breath, a mis-beating of heart.  The days tended toward blowing nose, or coughing and retching; the worst?  Seizing.  If it weren't for Pruflas' presence, Vykan was oddly sure he would be insane by now.        Nearly a week later of this, and Pruflas knocked upon the mind-door again.  I think I have a solution for your translations.  If it works, then I can take my leave.        A weak chuckle.  Eager to leave?        Don't be like that.  You know feelings are transmitted just as the words themselves in this state.        Vykan was currently propped against a kind of chaise on the bed, so he could look out of the window.  He watched a songbird perched on a snow-capped branch before answering.  It played a tune while his mind-words filtered through.  I get the impression now you fail to see me.  Even like this, my feelings.        The image of Pruflas appeared next to Vykan, watching alongside to the crisply sharp winter morning.  Yellow sunlight on the horizon was reflected off snow.  Much like a sea, Pruflas thought quietly to himself.  To the Stygian  -- with an air of resignation:  This is true.  Do you remember being sick with radiation?  I failed to cleanse you then.  You displayed a remarkable resistance to my magic.  Quite unlike anything I have ever seen in my many, many centuries of life.  I thought about that.        The songbird fluttered its wings, making snow swirl around it, before flying off the branch in a bob.  Yeah.        Pruflas had to mentally brace at the roiling id.  It had such an effortless power over him, even while Vykan was physically ill.  It took the demon a while to reply.  Your mind is the same as your body.  I do not know if that is Stygia's blessing as well.  A resistance to magic?  I wish I had access to firsthand accounts . . .         You miss Limbo?  Vykan's question had a toying cloy in it, he was amused by the thought, even while outwardly haggard like a corpse.        I do.  There was the intention to continue, but the pair were interrupted by the now-familiar routine of Gyeoul-Ah returning to attend the Stygian.        She had him out of the bed in the chaise-thing -- Vykan had no idea what it was called -- with him wrapped in simple white silk; her folding the sheets, when he felt the impulse from Pruflas to test the 'method of translation.'  Without moving, like a zombie, he mustered physical words.  "You're, too kind."        Gyeoul-Ah's eyes widened, and she had a reflex to look at him with those soft-red eyes for a moment, before she gave a small smile.  Her voice had a soft lilt to it as she replied, giving both foreigners the impression she had a naturally kind soul.  "It is the way of the Hao Sect.  We help those in need."  She returned to folding the sheets.        It was only after silence filled the room, her on the way out, that Pruflas wrinkled back like a phantom on the newly-made bed.  Vykan looked over from the mid-morning view, as Pruflas revealed his thoughts.  Good.  I didn't help at all with that one.        What did you do?        Remember how I described your mind before?  The id is like an ocean, the ego a spiral staircase of consciousness jutting up from it, and your superego is where you are now.  I inscribed all I knew of the Chinese language first in your id.  To reinforce this, I used seals to imprint copies of the journals onto your ego-stairs.  Took a damned long time working through your mind, you know.        The psychic connection provided imagery to help aid the ideas.  Vykan nodded.  Sleep learning?        A more hands-on version, but yes.  Pruflas disgorged from within the id, for the first time since arriving.  He staggered around the room, settling on the bed a moment, before looking over at Vykan face-to-face.  The Stygian was gaunt, having finally lost weight significantly.  The skin was pale as death, bloodless and anemic from the vomiting.  Gyeoul-Ah was such an angel . . . He spoke, low, knowing how Vykan handled sounds.  "It's time for me to go.  I have to find knowledge to aid us.  And you need to rest.  Anything to say?"        Vykan broke the stare, gazing back to the land outside.  He looked for views of plants beneath the snow in distant horizon.  "No.  Good luck."  He had to catch his breath from just those three syllables.  Pruflas nodded, getting up to leave, before Vykan exhaled out, unable to form a word.  Pruflas stopped, and waited.  "How are you, not sick?"        Pruflas turned away, but spoke over his shoulder.  "I was around for many plagues.  Yes, even the Black Plague.  I know how to defend against contagion for one.  But, for this, I don't think was the issue."  He glanced back with those yellow eyes.  "I'm a being comprised of aether, remember?  The jump between worlds is a jump into raw, untamed aether.  That particular jump was a bad one; in the same way your mind was assailed, my being was rent and reformed."        "Clean water into dirty puddle."         Pruflas was about to retort before noticing the hint of quirk on Vykan's mouth.  "You dick.  I'll see you whenever."  With a hand wave, Pruflas popped out of the room the next second.        Vykan laid back in the bed with a smile.        A minute later, a sneeze brought bloody coughs from him.       ~Near the end of winter, a time later~ ~In the top floor of, the building?~ ~All-too-comfortable room~ ~Vykan~     Pruflas had been gone a while, Vykan not caring to tell time for the obvious, when Gyeoul-Ah excused herself inside holding a wrapped item in her hands.  Vykan smiled without speaking, nodding for her to reveal what it was.  She placed it gingerly at the foot of the bed, unwrapping what Vykan realized were his original clothes.  He looked at her then.        She held up the tattered rags, all that was left.  "Yours?"        He nodded.  The emotions already sapped him back to the pillows.        She folded the clothes back neatly.  "We figured it was something like that.  Clothes of this nature are not from around here.  When we saw the petty bandits peddle them, we knew a foreigner had arrived.  That was how we found you."  Her red eyes took on a harder look before she smiled -- to herself -- and continued.  "We have sent for Doctor Moyong.  It was not figured as important, since you had the fire of life in your eyes.  Forgive me.  You carry pain regardless."        Her bows to Vykan distressed him.  He opened his mouth to stop her, only a croak managed.  You worked too damn hard for this self-bashing!  All he could sputter was an 'uh.'  She thankfully seemed to understand, straightening out and setting the cloth bundle by his side, before stepping back to a respectful distance.        Gyeoul-Ah nodded.  "Doctor Moyong will be here shortly.  We will see what we can do to help."         She turned to leave then.  Vykan watched her motions from sunken in the pillows.  She has a gentleness about her that eases those around her.  Seems the type.  He lifted an arm with all too much effort, looking at the palm.  Vykan noticed then the gross darkness of his veins crossing over his forearm.         Letting it drop to the bed, he closed his eyes.  'Watch these people.  Learn from them.'  I'll try, Pruflas.  I'll try.