The world Daniel Edgar was beginning to unravel was a bureaucratic and biological nightmare, an underworld of twisted existences that hid in the shadow of the common world. It was exactly the kind of intricate, dangerous, and anomaly-ridden reality that Noah—or the conscious core of Ethan that inhabited his body—had always instinctively repelled. Ethan had sought order in personal chaos; the revelation that the entire universe was fundamentally more bizarre and less controllable than he imagined was profoundly undesirable.
Daniel, with the patience of a teacher and the seriousness of a man who knows the dangers he describes, explained about the Pariahs in general. Noah listened, absorbing every word with his perfect memory, while mentally cataloging the information. The Pariahs, according to his grandfather, were not a unified race, but an overarching classification for everything that was different, everything that didn't fit conventional biology or physics.
For the most part, they were globally known folk legends and myths that, to Noah's silent chagrin, were terrifyingly real. Werewolves, Vampires, and all sorts of aberrations that existed as whispers and nightmares in his previous world existed here as tangible and often dangerous Pariahs.
And, apparently, the strangeness didn't stop there. There were the mythological ones, like the Satyrs—lecherous forest creatures that Noah only knew from ancient history books. But, for a tiny bit of ironic relief amidst the chaos, Daniel informed him that such creatures, along with the abominable Yetis, were officially extinct. The world was frightening, but at least it was a little less crowded with monsters than it could be.
"Well," Daniel continued, his deep voice breaking through Noah's thoughts, "among the Pariahs, there are the Psychics, or Seers. Their abilities lie not in the body, but in the psyche, in the mind and spirit."
Noah raised an eyebrow, Ethan's skepticism surfacing naturally. Mental powers sounded like low-quality fantasy. Daniel, sensing the doubt, went straight to the point.
"According to the records I have access to," the old man explained, "a Psychic's abilities can vary enormously. Some see the past, like echoes of ancient events. Others see the distant present, as if looking through a window to another place. And there are those who glimpse the future, although this is always a branch of possibilities, never an absolute fact." He paused dramatically. "And there are the rarest, those who can... warp reality."
That caught Noah's attention. Warp reality. It sounded familiar. It sounded like the Gray Mist.
"However." Daniel tempered. "The only Psychic of that type I have a record of didn't break the laws of reality; he bent them. He could make it so that, within a limited area – say, the size of this room – gravity could be altered with a flick of a finger, or even produce phenomena inconceivable to a common pariah. They were adjustments, not revocations. And they required a monumental effort."
The explanation was fascinating, but Noah quickly grasped the practical application. "Their base abilities, however, generally involve the future and the past, but with a physical 'touch'. They often use tools to focus and amplify their gifts: Ouija boards for communication, protective talismans, crystal balls for clairvoyance." Daniel then gave the most crucial piece of information: "And psychic visions, Noah, generally only manifest and develop around the age of fifteen. It's when an individual's spirituality matures enough to pierce the veil."
Noah looked at his own small hands, then at the reflection of his childish face in the library's dark windowpane. The piece didn't fit.
"But I'm only 5 years old," he commented, his childish voice laden with an adult's perplexity. The fact was undeniable and profoundly anomalous. He had awakened something—that spiritual storm—a full ten years before what was considered the norm among Seers.
Daniel smiled, a glint of pride and admiration in his eyes. "Well, my dear, you are not exactly... common. Like a da Vinci among painters, I can say you are a pleasant anomaly. I don't know precisely why, but I firmly believe your Spirituality is already simply so vast and potent that it forces these visions and manifestations to appear now, long before their time."
To illustrate, Daniel took a heavy, elegant volume from the shelf, opening it to a specific page that showed a complex diagram of subtle energies.
"Spirituality," he explained, pointing to the page. "It is the fundamental energy that all Pariahs use in one way or another. It is the fuel of the extraordinary. The primary users are Psychics, like you, and the so-called 'Da Vincis,' like me – a term we use for Pariahs whose abilities are telekinesis – because it is the source of all our abilities."
He closed the book with a soft thud. "Other Pariahs use Spirituality in a more brute manner, on a smaller, more focused scale. A Werewolf, for example, uses this energy internally to transform its own body. A Vampire might use it to generate phenomena from its own body, like hypnotizing with a gaze or moving with supernatural speed. There are also Gorgons, a type of Pariah who can petrify someone who looks at their snakes, or Sparks who can generate electricity."
"Everything comes from the same source: Spirituality. The difference lies in how it is channeled. And you, my grandson," he said, looking intently at Noah. "You seem to have a truly... oceanic source."
Daniel closed the heavy tomes with a care that bordered on reverence, as if he were containing not just words, but living forces. The sound echoed softly in the library, which now seemed to breathe a sigh of relief after the spiritual storm that had shaken it moments before. His eyes, wise and tired, rested on Noah. There was a new weight in his gaze, a mixture of deep admiration and resigned concern. He had always wanted a remarkable heir, but the nature of that remarkability now led into unexplored and potentially dangerous territories.
"In general terms," Daniel began, his voice a low rumble in the room's silence, "Psychics are among the strongest and most versatile species in the Pariah world. The unpredictability of their abilities is, at the same time, their greatest weakness and their greatest strength. With much training, discipline, and... survival... it is entirely possible that you could not only control visions but develop more proactive abilities." He paused, and an almost playful smile touched his lips, a rare glimpse of the man he might have been under lighter circumstances. "Who knows, perhaps even the one I mentioned: the ability to subtly distort the rules of reality. Just imagine, grandson, changing the rules of the game in your favor."
The jest carried a seed of truth, a possibility that made Noah's eyes shine for a moment, not with ambition, but with the pure thirst for understanding of a scientist facing a new physical principle.
Then, Daniel turned and opened a drawer built into the bookshelf, taking from it a small box of ebony, polished to a shine. It was simple, without inscriptions, but emanated a feeling of antiquity and purpose. He extended the box to Noah.
"Here," he said, his voice softening. "This may help you focus and refine your psychic abilities. Think of it as... training wheels for a bicycle, or a telescope for a myopic mind. An anchor point for your spirituality."
Noah took the box. It was heavier than it looked. When he opened it, the silver hinge made a soft sound. Inside, resting on black velvet, was a pendulum. The chain was of finely braided silver, and suspended from it was a precision-cut stone: a pale, clear blue topaz that seemed to capture and refract the library's faint light, holding a small, watery universe within.
"A spiritual pendulum?" Noah asked, his voice a whisper of recognition. He lifted it from the box, feeling the cold weight of the stone and the delicate workmanship of the chain in his fingers.
"Exactly," confirmed Daniel, a gleam of satisfaction in his gray eyes. "Spiritual Dowsing is often underestimated, considered the simplest and most basic art of divination. But true connoisseurs know that, in terms of Astral Projection and the search for fundamental truths, it is also one of the most powerful. It is a tool that does not impose answers, but amplifies your questions and your intention, projecting your consciousness through the astral planes to find what you seek. It is a formidable skill for discovering anything about anyone or any place." He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial, dramatic tone. "Some master dowsers even say that, in the right hands, a pendulum is practically Omnipotent."
Noah raised his eyes from the pendulum, fixing them on his grandfather. His childish face maintained a serious, almost flat expression, a deadpan look that carried the skepticism of a previous life. "Nothing is Omnipotent, Grandfather," he countered, his voice calm and logical, a stark contrast to the old man's contained enthusiasm. "Everything has limits, costs, and trade-offs. Especially something that deals with astral energies and planes. The manual is quite clear on that."
Daniel chuckled softly, a raspy, affectionate laugh. He wasn't offended; he admired his grandson's analytical mind. "Fair. Very fair. A skeptic with a pendulum is more dangerous than a believer. You'll avoid many traps that way."
Noah nodded, satisfied with the response. With deliberate movements, he wrapped the pendulum's chain firmly around his right wrist, turning it into a peculiar bracelet. The blue topaz rested against his skin, cold at first, but soon warming to his body's temperature. It was a strange and comforting weight, a tool, a promise of future discoveries.
"Thank you, Grandfather," he said, with genuine gratitude. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need to... familiarize myself with my new equipment."
Daniel nodded, his gaze following the boy as he left the library.
...
A sigh that was more mental than physical escaped Noah's lips. The familiar, dense, and dead air filled his dreamlike lungs. The indistinct, featureless landscape materialized around him, an infinite tapestry of gray tones.
"Back here again, huh," he whispered into the oppressive stillness, his voice absorbed by the Gray Mist before it could echo. A sensation of profound fatigue, not physical, but of the soul, washed over him. "Can't I even enjoy a peaceful night's sleep?"
Being in that place was never a welcome experience. Each visit to this dreamlike or transcendental plane—he still wasn't sure what it was—left him more confused about his own nature. The boundaries between Ethan White and Noah Edgar blurred here, like two different inks bleeding onto the same damp paper. And always, hanging over everything, was the persistent, unanswered question that echoed in the void:
Why me?
This time, however, something had changed. The mist was no longer completely empty. He wasn't simply standing in nothingness. His back pressed against a solid, cold surface. Looking down, he saw he was sitting on a throne. It wasn't a throne of gold or glory, but an austere, somber construction, made of the same dull, nebulous material as the environment itself, as if it had been carved directly from solidified mist.
And before him, stretching into the gloom, was a long, imposing table, also made of gray, ethereal substance. Flanking it, empty chairs were lined up, expectant, as if awaiting the arrival of a council of specters. The scene was both solemn and profoundly lonely.
Upon the table, directly in front of him, three sheets of paper rested. They were a pale, sickly yellow, standing out vividly against the gray monotony. The writing covering them was in no language Noah knew—not as Noah, the precocious polyglot, nor as Ethan, the ordinary man. They were intricate symbols, glyphs that seemed to writhe slightly before his eyes, a script he recognized with a chill down his spine: it was the same archaic, strange language used in the enigmatic poems engraved on the ruins he had existed within in the Gray Mist.
With a curiosity that overcame the discomfort, he reached out and picked up the first sheet. As he touched the paper, the indecipherable glyphs suddenly rearranged themselves in his mind, translating into his native tongue with frightening clarity.
He read:
Fool Pathway;
Sequence 9: Seer.
The Beyonder gains several abilities, one of which is an Enhanced Memory that grants the Seer the ability to memorize and learn the steps of various Ritualistic Magics and Arts of Divination. Furthermore, a Seer's spirituality will also be improved, and he will have access to Spiritual Sight to see non-physical things, such as ghosts and specters.
Additionally, he can see the different parts of a Soul, and deduce a person's health and emotions through it, and determine if something possesses a magical aura. Furthermore, Seers possess a certain danger sense that alerts them to potential threats using their spirituality.
Noah swallowed dryly. The description was an almost perfect reflection of his own emerging capabilities. The photographic memory, the spiritual perception that had led to the chaos in the library... it was as if the document were describing him.
With hands that trembled slightly, he picked up the second sheet.
Door Pathway;
Sequence 9: Apprentice.
The Beyonder gains the ability to open certain things related to Doors, using the unique characteristics of the Spiritual World. An Apprentice can pass through walls and other large obstacles by opening a symbolic, incorporeal Door.
Here, Noah's heart quickened. Doors. The word echoed deeply within him, resonating with the memory of the door of writhing larvae and black-blue light he had passed through. There was a connection.
Finally, he grabbed the third sheet, his mind reeling with the implications.
Error Pathway;
Sequence 9: Marauder.
As a Marauder, the Beyonder possesses very agile hands, plus an incredible intuition that allows them to see valuable objects from up to 10 meters away. In addition to an increase in physical attributes and capabilities related to theft and a proficiency in combat, particularly in using weapons like daggers and short swords.
Three paths. And what did "Sequence 9" mean? Were there higher sequences? What was a "Beyonder"?
Noah's eyes, still heavy with the weariness of the dream world, narrowed. His attention focused not on the meaning of the words, but on the very nature of the writing. His fingers, almost of their own volition, lightly touched the glyphs on the yellow page. The surface of the paper was rough, but the letters seemed to pulse with a subtle energy, a phantom heat that his dreamlike skin could perceive. And then, like a key turning in a rusty lock, the memory unlocked.
The poem. The one he had found engraved on a stone slab in a book of ancient ruins, whose language he should never have understood. The verses echoed in his mind with a sudden, overwhelming clarity:
Three veiled Paths arise: that of the Fool, the Error, and that of the Door.
For all paths, in the end, lead to the Lord of the Mysteries.
The words of the poem were not a vague prophecy; they were a manual. A map. And the three sheets before him were the signposts of that map. A wave of understanding, cold and electrifying, washed over him. This was not accidental. His coming to this place, the ritual, it was all part of a larger pattern, a cosmic fabric into which he was now an inextricably woven thread.
A faint smile, not of joy, but of intellectual resignation and a spark of anticipation, touched Noah's lips. He wasn't lost. He was being guided. In an obscure and enigmatic way, but guided nonetheless.
With a thought, a subtle gesture of will he felt emanating from his spirituality, he raised his hand. The three sheets of paper responded instantly, detaching from the misty table and floating gently until they hovered before his face, aligned like sacred artifacts.
"The Three led me to the Lord of the Mysteries." He whispered into the stillness, his voice sounding strangely mature and ponderous in that timeless space. The phrase was not a question, but a statement. He had tread, or been pushed, onto the Path of the Fool. The abilities of the Seer were already manifesting in him; that was the proof. But the other two paths... the Apprentice of the Door and the Marauder of the Error. Were they alternatives? Were they complements?
"I know I walk the Path of the Fool, but I don't know the others... I will have to discover that."
The declaration echoed like a vow, a commitment to himself. Curiosity, his driving force since forever, now had a precise focus. The mystery of his existence had deepened exponentially, but now he had clues.
He closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to pull away from that plane. He focused on the sensation of the cold throne against his back, the smell of old paper and static mist. And then, he sought within himself the memory of his room, the weight of the Egyptian cotton sheets, the discreet scent of polished wood, and the distant sound of birds outside.
Suddenly, a warm, golden light hit his closed eyelids, a violent and welcome contrast to the perpetual gloom of the Gray Mist. It was the morning sun, filtering through the silk curtains of his room.
He sighed, a deep sound that came from the bottom of his chest, laden with the weight of the night and the relief of returning. His eyelids opened slowly, adjusting to the familiar light. The high, ornate ceiling of his room replaced the gray void. The cozy weight of the blankets was real and comforting.
Without hurry, Noah got up.