Obinai had come to both appreciate and despise the information Vale gave him that night...
The answers he had craved often led to more questions, and when Vale postponed his selection for training after their initial encounter, Obinai couldn't help but feel a brush of frustration. The morning of rest that followed was uneventful, but it left him with plenty of time to stew over what Vale had revealed.
When Vale finally sat him down the that evening, his words struck Obinai deeply. "You," Vale began, "house what is known as a Sin."
Obinai's brow furrowed at the term. Vale watched him carefully before continuing. "I have encountered variations of this before," he said, "but yours… yours is different. It's mild, restrained, almost as if the curse never truly struck you."
"Mild?" Obinai asked. "What does that even mean?"
Vale's gaze didn't waver. "The Sin you carry is Gluttony," he said plainly. "In past cases, those afflicted with it were consumed by an unrelenting hunger. It didn't matter how much they ate—healthy or not. Their hunger would persist, gnawing at them from within until it drove them to madness. Some would devour entire fields of crops, others…" He trailed off, his expression darkening. "Others turned to more unspeakable acts to satiate their hunger."
Obinai shuddered. The thought of being cursed to such a fate made his stomach churn. He rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, "And you're saying I'm supposed to… what? Be thankful it's 'mild'?"
Vale's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "It could be far worse," he said softly.
...
Over the following weeks, Obinai settles into an uneasy rhythm. The sharp tension that has taken up residence in his shoulders begins to ease, though his thoughts remain restless. Tonight, as he sits on the edge of his bed...pondering.
Dressed in a simple linen shirt, its faint gray hue soft against his skin, and a pair of loose, dark trousers that hang just above his bare feet, Obinai leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His fingers fidget absently with the edge of his shirt, rolling the hem between his thumb and forefinger. His posture is slightly slouched, the faint glow of exhaustion pulling at him, even as his mind refuses to settle.
He's grown to find delight in being in this cozy room. The faint scent of dried herbs hanging from the low ceiling lingers in the air, blending with the distant aroma of finished stew wafting in from the living area. A faint flicker of light spills through the entrance to the main room, casting soft shadows on the roughly hewn walls.
Obinai's gaze drifts to the wooden floorboards at his feet, his thoughts spiraling. I can't believe the world is like this… he thinks, the words heavy in his mind. His fingers stop their fidgeting as he clenches his fists. _What else is out there?
He glances up, his eyes scanning the room. His few belongings—mostly clothes Vale has given him—are folded neatly on a small wooden stool in the corner. His boots, scuffed and slightly too large, sit beside the door. The room, though simple...feels safe...finally.
His gaze shifts toward the entrance to the living area. From his vantage point, he can see Vale's silhouette moving steadily near the hearth, the firelight outlining the older man's figure.
But his thoughts refuse to still. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his messy locs, now slightly longer than it had been weeks ago. Why me? he wonders, his jaw tightening. Why am I the one stuck with this thing inside me? Why didn't I know the world was like this? All this history, this war, these… sins. What's going on beyond these walls? What else is waiting for me out there?
His foot taps lightly against the wooden floor as his restless energy spills into small movements. He glances back out toward the living area, his eyes narrowing slightly. Vale… what else aren't you telling me?
His mind began to wander again, going over what vale had discussed with him on previous days...
...
One of these evenings stood out to him. As they sat by the fire in the cottage, Obinai finally broached a subject that had been gnawing at him. "Those statues I saw," he began cautiously, glancing at Vale. "The ones at the palace. What… what do they mean?"
Vale sighed deeply, the lines on his face seeming to deepen as he stared into the flickering flames. For a long moment, he didn't respond. Finally, he spoke...
"Before the Wall, before this fragmented world we live in, there was once a great human kingdom," he began. "It was vast, prosperous, and ambitious. But ambition, as you'll come to learn, is a double-edged blade. That kingdom, in its arrogance, started a war—a war so devastating it nearly plunged the entire world into ruin."
Obinai frowned, leaning forward slightly. "What kind of war?"
Vale's gaze didn't leave the fire. "A war of conquest," he said bitterly. "The humans sought to claim lands, resources, and power, believing themselves entitled to it all. They turned their ingenuity and cunning toward creating weapons and strategies unlike anything the world had seen. But their ambition blinded them to the cost."
He paused, his voice growing quieter. "The statues you saw depict that story. To the other races of this world, they stand as a reminder of humanity's hubris. They show humans as villains—bringers of misery and destruction. And those who rose from the ashes of human cruelty? They are the heroes. The victors."
Obinai stared at him. "So… the other races fear us?" he asked quietly. "Is that why we're… like this now?"
Vale turned his gaze to him, his expression unreadable. "Fear is part of it," he said slowly. "But it goes deeper than that. The other races fear something they call Human Nature. They believe it is innate to your kind—a drive to conquer, to control, to take what you cannot have. Despite lacking the physical or magical advantages of other races, humans have always sought to overcome their limits through sheer determination and cunning."
Obinai frowned, his hands curling into fists. "And that makes us villains?"
Vale's lips twitched faintly, but his gaze remained somber. "Not always," he admitted. "But history has taught the other races to be wary. Especially when it comes to your relationship with the denominations of power."
Obinai tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"
Vale leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Each race," he explained, "has a natural affinity for one or more denominations of power—Ki, Mana, Aura, Sciencia, or others. These affinities define their strengths and their roles in the world. The elves, for instance, are unparalleled in Mana manipulation. The dwarves excel in Aura, infusing their craftsmanship with unbreakable strength. And the gnomes… the gnomes are masters of Sciencia, bending reality itself with their intellect."
"And humans?" Obinai pressed.
Vale's expression darkened slightly. "Humans… are the exception," he said quietly. "You are neither favored nor condemned. You lack a singular affinity, yet you can study and learn any denomination. The gods gave you adaptability—an ability to tread paths that others cannot. But that gift is also a curse. Because while you can learn many things, you cannot master them. Your power plateaus long before it rivals that of the other races."
Obinai leaned back, his thoughts swirling. "So… we're like jacks of all trades. Good at everything but not great at anything."
"Precisely," Vale said with a nod. "And that is why the other races fear you. Your adaptability makes you unpredictable. Unstable, even. It is that very nature—what they call Human Nature—that nearly led to your extinction."
The room fell silent, the crackling of the fire filling the void.
He recalls another discussion after being taught the beginnings of Essence Theory...
Obinai exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair as he stares at Vale across the room. "Wow… so if I ever leave this place," he begins, "I'd be hunted, right?"
Vale pauses, his face heavy with thought, then shakes his head slightly. "Hunted? No," he says. "Heavily scrutinized, more like it. The generation that remembers the war is on its last legs, and their influence is waning. In many ways, this is the perfect time for the world to see you—a human—beyond the Wall. Perhaps… perhaps their opinions can change."
Obinai frowns, his brows knitting together. Perfect time? He shakes his head slightly, muttering under his breath, "Doesn't feel like there's any good time for me to be thrown out there."
Vale studies him. "There's much more you need to understand before you think of leaving," he continues. "The Wall itself… no one, to my knowledge, truly knows how it came to be. After the war with humans ended, the Wall appeared. It wasn't built by human hands—that much is certain."
"The Wall… wasn't built?" Obinai echoes, his voice rising slightly. He sits up straighter.
Vale nods solemnly, the light from the nearby hearth casting deep shadows on his face. "It wasn't built. It was placed. And here's the part you might find surprising: it isn't as endless as it appears. It stretches only to the edge of this continent. Beyond that…" He trails off, gesturing vaguely. "Well, no one really knows."
Obinai's mind races. The Wall isn't endless? He rubs the back of his neck, his fingers brushing against his hair. That doesn't make sense… it feels like it goes on forever. "But," he begins cautiously, "if it's not that long, why do we see it as endless?"
Vale smiles faintly, though his eyes remain serious. "Because it's layered," he explains. "The Wall is a construct of magic—layers upon layers of enchantments, woven together by forces far beyond understanding. Each layer works in tandem, creating an illusion of endlessness. To the humans behind it, it feels infinite, impenetrable. But that's by design."
Obinai's stomach tightens at the implications. An illusion… So we've been boxed in this whole time. He grips the edge of his chair, his knuckles whitening. "Why?" he asks, his voice low. "Why would anyone create something like that?"
Vale's expression darkens. "To keep humans contained," he says simply. "Behind the Wall, humans have multiplied, thrived even, in a limited space. But it's not just the Wall. There's something greater at play over this world. Something… I can't fully explain."
Obinai leans forward, his voice sharp. "Try," he presses. "What do you mean by 'greater at play'?"
Vale sighs, rubbing his temple as though the weight of the conversation is physically taxing. "I mean the atmosphere itself," he says slowly. "I cannot leave this world's boundaries. If I try, I'd need to pass through what I call the Veil of Causality—an invisible barrier that binds us all to the world's cycle."
Obinai stares at him, his mind spinning. "The Veil of… what? What does that even mean? Is it some kind of magic?" He pauses, then asks again, more insistently, "What is it?"
Vale shakes his head with a faint chuckle, holding up a hand. "It's too much to explain, Obinai," he says. "The Veil is many things at once—a force of magic, a barrier, a concept. You'd need decades to fully understand it."
Obinai frowns, leaning back again, his arms crossed tightly. Great, he thinks bitterly. Another mystery that no one wants to explain.
...
Now Obinai writhes in his room a bit thinking about the explanations that took days to discuss...
During that time, Vale taught Obinai about the other races—a topic that left the younger man both intrigued and overwhelmed. The first lesson had been met with confusion, with Vale's explanations repeatedly interrupted by Obinai's furrowed brows and half-joking remarks about needing simpler terms.
"You see," Vale had said with a chuckle, "the races can be divided into four broad categories: the Exalted, the Neutrals, the Grounded, and the Forsaken."
"The Exalted?" Obinai had asked.
Vale had nodded. "The higher-tiered races," he explained. "They are the most revered and often the most powerful. Elves, dwarves, tieflings… you'll usually find them in positions of nobility or royalty. They dominate the societies near Eldoria and are often seen as rulers or protectors of the world's balance."
"And the others?" Obinai had pressed, leaning forward a bit.
Vale's tone had grown more serious. "The Neutrals include the majority of races that don't hold the prestige of the Exalted. Orcs, gnomes—races that are strong or capable but don't stand out as rulers." He had paused, his gaze sharpening slightly. "The Grounded, on the other hand, are those tied closely to the natural world—nymphs, centaurs, fairies. To be fair, the Neutrals and the Grounded overlap quite a bit, but I'm being specific here for clarity."
Obinai had nodded slowly, though his expression still showed traces of confusion. "Okay… and the Forsaken?"
Vale's voice had dropped lower as he continued, a faint edge creeping into his words. "The Forsaken are the outcasts. Those cursed by their origins or by divine punishment. They are the races touched by darkness, condemned to live on the fringes of society. Humans… and imps, for example."
Obinai had flinched slightly at the mention of humans, his interest sharpening. "Humans?" he had repeated, his voice quieter now.
Vale's eyes had flickered with something Obinai couldn't quite place—pity, perhaps. "Yes," he had said simply. "Humans."
The silence had stretched for a moment before Obinai broke it. "What about the Godkin?" he had asked. "Where do they fit in all this?"
Vale had sighed heavily, his expression clouding with thought. "They don't," he had said bluntly. "The Godkin stand apart from all of this. They resemble humans greatly, but their power places them beyond the concerns of mortal affairs. One Godkin alone could destroy a kingdom and leave it in ruins without breaking a sweat."
Obinai had felt a shiver run down his spine at the statement. "What are they like?" he had asked, his voice almost a whisper.
Vale's expression had turned grim. "Beautiful," he had said. "Regal. Impossible not to stare at. They have pure white hair, like freshly fallen snow, and eyes the color of deep blood. Their presence is… overwhelming. It demands respect and fear in equal measure." He had paused, his jaw tightening slightly. "But their indifference is what makes them truly dangerous. To them, most races are nothing more than playthings. A Godkin's whims can destroy lives, and they rarely show mercy."
Obinai had swallowed hard, his fists clenching in his lap at the thought. "And the dragonkin?" he had asked after a long moment.
Vale had nodded slightly. "The dragonkin serve as their guardians. Their strength rivals that of the Exalted, and their loyalty to the Godkin is absolute. Together, they represent the divine power that reshaped this world long ago."
Obinai had fallen silent after that, his thoughts swirling...
He had glanced at Vale, who now sat quietly, his gaze distant as though lost in his own memories. What kind of place is this? What have I gotten myself into?
Vale had spoken suddenly, his voice sharp as it cut through the silence. "Never cross a Godkin, Obinai."
Obinai had looked at him, startled by the sudden warning.
"Whatever happens," Vale had continued, his tone heavy and unwavering, "avoid them at all costs."
...
Obinai sits cross-legged now on his narrow bed, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as a small, excited smile spreads across his face. He bounces slightly where he sits, his energy barely contained. His thoughts swirl with anticipation, and he mumbles to himself, almost inaudibly, "Magic… I get to do magic and all the other stuff."
He grins wider, his hands clenching into fists. I'll be stronger… finally. I can finally—oh my gosh—I can finally do something. His breath quickens as the idea takes root in his mind, growing more vivid with each passing second. Something real. Something that matters. He presses his palms against the mattress, the coarse wool of the blanket scratching against his skin as he leans forward slightly. "Finally…" he whispers, his voice trembling with excitement.
But as quickly as the joy rises, his thoughts shift, darkening like storm clouds rolling in. His bouncing stops, and his fingers loosen their grip on the blanket. But what about Avaros City? The name sends a chill down his spine, and his shoulders tense. Why did they call it the wall Nurikabe? Why were they experimenting on me? He rubs his temples, his breath hitching. I heard there were others… His stomach twists violently. What happened to them?
His gaze flickers to the opening leading to the living area, but it feels distant, blurry. He swallows hard, a bitter taste rising in his throat. The Sanctuary… do they even know what happened to humans? Or do they just not care?
The questions come faster now, disjointed and relentless. What about my friends? Darren… Angel… His chest tightens, and he digs his nails into his palms. Is he going to be okay? Did they find Jasmine? His heart pounds, the sound echoing in his ears. Should I try to go back? The thought sends a fresh wave of nausea crashing over him, and his body lurches forward slightly, his hand pressing against his stomach.
Images flash in his mind—fractured, grotesque memories that make his vision blur and his breath come in shallow gasps. No… no, I can't. He squeezes his eyes shut, his jaw trembling. I can't see that again. I can't go through that again. Never. His fists clench tighter, his knuckles turning white. A faint, choked sound escapes his throat as he fights back the emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
A single name pushes through the chaos, and he releases a shaky breath. Elias. He stares at the wall ahead of him, his focus distant. I never asked about Elias… Did Vale help him escape? His brow furrows as his mind races. Then why isn't he here? Should I ask? He bites his lip, his teeth pressing hard against the tender skin. Maybe not… I hope he's okay. Truly, I do. But…
...his thoughts falter, and a strange stillness falls over him...
His hands relax, falling limply to his sides, and his expression becomes vacant.
His body shifts almost imperceptibly as he leans back against the wall, his head tilting slightly. His eyes, once filled with turmoil, now glaze over, distant and unfocused.
Then, unexpectedly, a faint smile curls at the edges of his lips. It's small, almost imperceptible, yet unsettlingly serene. His voice is soft, almost a whisper, but the words seem to echo in the quiet room.
"Truly something… something exquisite. Fascinating. Awe-inspiring."
His head tilts further, his eyes staring at a point far beyond the room, beyond the cottage.
"It's all coming together," he murmurs, his voice carrying an almost reverent tone.
His fingers twitch slightly against the blanket.
"Only… much faster than expected."
The smile lingers on his face as his expression darkens just slightly, a shadow passing through his features. His final words are whispered, soft yet laced with an eerie certainty.
"The fallout will be something truly magical."
For a moment, the room is silent, the tension thick in the air, before Obinai's head tilts forward, and he blinks...
Whatever it was—seems broken, but the faint chill lingers as he exhales shakily and pulls his knees to his chest, lost once more in the maze of his thoughts.
Finally, a bit more time passes, and he curls up for sleep, anxiety gnawing at him until slumber slowly takes hold, carrying him into tomorrow...