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"The Chronicles of Forgotten Light"

Chapter One: The Council of Echoes

---

The Council chamber was a marvel of ancient and modern architecture, a sacred space that seemed to

exist outside of time. High vaulted ceilings, soaked in centuries of history, were adorned with glowing

runes that pulsed with life, responding to the thoughts and emotions of the beings gathered below. Soft

golden light streamed into the room from crystalline spheres that floated in the air, shifting colors in

tune with the mood of the discussion.

Representatives from across the galaxy had gathered in this hall—beings of incredible diversity, each

one embodying the unique beauty and power of their race. Tall and luminous, Ethereal beings seemed

to shimmer as they moved, their garments ranging from simple robes to intricate, ornate attire, each

bearing the emblem of their status. Alongside them stood warriors with bronze skin, wisps of smoke in

humanoid form, and metallic creatures that glinted in the light, all coexisting in a delicate balance.

Despite the importance of the topics being discussed, the atmosphere in the chamber was thick with

the weight of bureaucracy—a slow, creaking machine of deliberation that had long lost momentum. The

Council was mired in debates over trivial issues that could quickly wear down even the most patient

listener.

Dundul Kron sat in his seat, his gaze drifting over the assembly, but his thoughts were far from this hall.

His restless mind sought escape from the monotony. And as often, he slipped away to another place,

far removed from the noise and tedium.

With a deft shift, he connected to the collective unconscious and, with just one leap, transported

himself to a bar, leaving the assembly behind. His decisions would be recorded and documented

regardless; why waste energy on being present where the only task was to select the distinctive feature

of a specific model, or to decide why it should have a particular color, with periodic rescan for

additional functions that enhance the model’s ability to perform its assigned tasks?

In this other reality, everything was sharper, more vivid. Here, there were no debates, no endless

discussions, only peace and harmony. The bar where Dundul had transported himself was located on

the rings of Saturn, a place that epitomized tranquility and seclusion, far from the bustle of the galaxy.This bar, hidden among billions of icy and rocky particles, offered a breathtaking view of the planet's

rings, slowly streaming through the vastness of space. It was called "On Saturn's Rings" and was the

embodiment of what could be called the perfect place for those seeking quiet and solitude away from

the chaos of the universe.

The interior of the bar was simultaneously cozy and futuristic, with floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed

guests to gaze out at the endless expanse of Saturn and its famous rings. Beyond these windows, like a

river of time, the distant stars slowly drifted by, creating a sense of eternity and calm.

Tables and chairs, made of soft yet sturdy materials, were arranged so that each visitor could enjoy the

panoramic view. The lighting in the bar was subdued and soft, emanating from neon tubes that gradually

changed color depending on the time of day and the mood of the patrons.

The bartender, seemingly an extension of the bar itself, effortlessly mixed drinks that seemed to absorb

the atmosphere of the place. Each cocktail served here was more than just a drink; it was an entire

universe of flavors and sensations, adjusting to the emotions and thoughts of those who consumed it.

This bar was the place where one could come to ponder important decisions, immerse oneself in

reflections on life and the universe, or enjoy a moment of silence in the vastness of space. For Dundul, it

was the perfect place to meet her—a place where time slowed down, allowing him to focus on what

truly mattered.

Meeting with Sophia was what truly mattered now. She was a beacon of calm in the storm of his

thoughts, her presence a reminder of the beauty that lay beyond the confines of duty. Her deep,

understanding eyes met his gaze, and a soft smile played on her lips as she voiced the question that had

been lingering in her mind.

“It’s fascinating how you understand things as if you’re seeing through layers of reality,” she began, as if

continuing a thought out loud. “I had a strange feeling during my last work. It was as if my brushes were

painting not by my hand, but by someone else’s. Is this what you talk about—the unconscious?”

“It’s similar to what Jung would call ‘the projection of the unconscious onto matter,’” Dundul replied,

smiling slightly. “Perhaps your brushes weren’t guided by your hands but by archetypes hidden deep

within your subconscious. They might manifest through you, as if you were a conduit for their energy. Do

you feel them influencing you?”She pondered this, her gaze drifting to the rings of Saturn outside the window.

“Yes, but it’s a bit unsettling. It feels like there are two forces within me: one striving to express

something I can’t understand, and the other trying to maintain control. Have you ever felt that?”

“Often,” Dundul responded calmly, his voice deep and assured. “It’s the eternal struggle between

consciousness and the unconscious. The second force is your ego, trying to maintain order. But to

achieve true harmony, we must learn to listen to both sides. Have you ever tried talking to these forces

as if they were living beings?”

She nodded slowly, her face lighting up with understanding.

“Talking? I’ve never thought of it that way. But you’re right, they do seem alive. How would you suggest I

begin such a dialogue?”

“Try entering a state of light trance, when you’re on the edge between sleep and wakefulness,” Dundul

suggested, his voice nearly a whisper, as if he were sharing a sacred secret. “In that moment, you can

visualize these forces. Imagine them as figures with whom you can converse. Ask them what they want

to tell you, and listen. You might be surprised by what you hear.”

She looked at him, her eyes once again meeting his gaze.

“I’ll try. It seems like this could be an important step toward understanding what’s happening inside me.

Thank you. I feel a bit more at ease knowing you’ve been through something similar.”

Dundul smiled gently.

“We all go through this, it’s just that not everyone realizes it. I’m glad I could help. Remember, this is a

journey to your true self, and only you can define what it means.”

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, a natural exchange between two souls connected by a deep

bond—a love that transcends the physical, a union rooted in mutual understanding and respect. They

didn’t need words to express it; their shared presence was enough.But as Dundul began to speak again, he felt a familiar tug at the edge of his consciousness. The Council

chamber was calling him back, its sluggish discussions demanding his attention. He blinked, and the

serene landscape outside the bar window faded, giving way to the grand hall filled with beings from

across the galaxy.

He straightened in his seat, realizing that his brief mental escape hadn’t gone unnoticed. The speaker at

the podium had paused, his eyes fixed on Dundul with an expression of curiosity and something else.

The room had fallen silent, all eyes turning toward him. Misael, a figure known for his rare but impactful

interventions, stood at the edge of the gathering, his gaze locked onto Dundul.

Dundul sighed inwardly, preparing to re-engage with the discussion. But before doing so, he allowed

himself one last thought of the woman in the bar and the utopia they both knew—she was so close.

— And don’t forget to stay with me, he thought to himself. — The journey has only just begun.Chapter 2: The First Artifact

---

‘‘Introduction and Familiarization’’

Dundul was stationed at an ancient archaeological site located in one of the most remote corners of the

galaxy. This forgotten outpost, which once served as a hub for studying ancient civilizations, was now

engulfed in silence and oblivion. Centuries had passed since the last scientist left these walls, leaving

behind only dust and ruins.

But recently, the station had once again attracted the attention of researchers. Strange energy surges

detected in this region indicated the presence of something unusual, possibly linked to ancient artifacts

that held the power and wisdom of long-lost peoples. Now, with the station becoming a focal point of

interest once more, Dundul had arrived to unravel the mysteries hidden deep within.

This life-sustaining planet had become the subject of investigation due to its unique position and

complex history. Once, Salt III had been part of a great civilization, but now only ruins and enigmas

buried beneath its surface remained. The shift in the planet's axis in the past had led to climate

changes, making it similar to Earth, though with a less polluted atmosphere.

Salt III was surrounded by a massive ring system, reminiscent of Saturn's rings, but with a mystical

touch, as if the planet itself was encased in ancient artifacts. These rings, encircling the planet, created

a mesmerizing spectacle in the night sky, giving everything around a sense of mystery and eternity.

The station was built many centuries ago on the ruins of an ancient city, which may have been one of the

centers of the vanished civilization. The station's main dome, constructed from a durable and nearly

invisible energy material, provided protection from harsh external conditions and allowed the station's

inhabitants to observe the majestic rings shimmering in the night, evoking a feeling of peace and

oblivion.

The planet's terraforming process had begun, but it was interrupted for unknown reasons. Outside the

dome, the atmosphere was still unbreathable, though its composition was slowly changing. A complex

life-support system artificially maintained a favorable environment inside the station. Biomes, where

rare plants were cultivated, played a crucial role in oxygen production. These domes resembled vast

parks filled with diverse flora and fauna, where both exotic plants and rare animals thrived. Thesebiomes not only sustained life on the station but also served as a reminder of nature's vitality, despite

being far from their home worlds.

Around 50 people lived on the station — archaeologists, engineers, biologists, linguists — each a

specialist in their field. They formed a diverse group, gathered from across the galaxy for a single

purpose: to unravel the mysteries of ancient civilizations and use their knowledge to understand the

present and future. The researchers lived in compact modules connected by a system of corridors that

provided easy access to various excavation zones and research centers. Though small, these modules

were designed to create a cozy atmosphere and foster a sense of camaraderie. However, some

preferred to live in townhouses located in the park zones of the biomes, where they could enjoy solitude

and the tranquility of nature.

Despite the harsh conditions, the station became a place where a sense of camaraderie thrived. Those

who lived and worked there became like family. In such extreme conditions, mutual support was not

just a necessity but the foundation of survival. Here, on the edge of the galaxy, amid cold wastelands

and ancient ruins, unique human bonds were formed, built on trust, mutual aid, and a common goal.

In the evenings, when the workday ended, the station's inhabitants often gathered in the central hall

beneath the main dome. There, they discussed their discoveries, shared thoughts, and told stories of

their home worlds. These moments were essential for maintaining morale and fostering a sense of

unity. Dundul, though lost in his own thoughts, could not help but feel the powerful energy emanating

from these people. Their dedication to their work and to each other inspired him to achieve new heights.

At the same time, especially for the sensitives, the station's atmosphere was imbued with a sense of

mystery. Every corner, every ancient mechanism seemed to hold secrets, waiting for their time to be

revealed. Dundul, with his innate ability to delve into the essence of things, could not help but feel this

tension, this call from antiquity that echoed in his mind.

But he needed to complete routine tasks before he could unravel these mysteries. Scanning debris,

analyzing energy fields, checking the operation of old mechanisms — all these were part of the work

that needed to be done to prepare the station for further exploration. These moments, filled with

monotony and sameness, seemed especially dull against the anticipation of what might be discovered

next.

Dundul wandered the station slowly, lost in thought. To him, artifacts were more than just ancient

objects. He understood that their true power lay not in their physical shell, but in what they symbolized.

An artifact had meaning only to the one who created it, and only in that person's hands did it hold truevalue. In Dundul's view, there was no difference between artifacts and totems — they were all merely

reflections of their creators' inner worlds.

Yet despite his skepticism about material objects, Dundul knew that they could be the key to unraveling

deeper truths. Each artifact held a piece of history, a fragment of knowledge that could shed light on

current events. Runes, though merely symbols to him, could still contain hidden power, capable of

opening doors to new understandings.

Immersed in these reflections, Dundul continued his work, preparing for the upcoming quest that

awaited him. With each step, he felt the station's mysterious energy becoming more palpable,

foretelling an inevitable encounter with what lay hidden in its depths.

The scientific team assembled to study the ancient artifacts on Salt III soon faced unforeseen

challenges. Initially, everyone worked in unison, striving to uncover the secrets of this enigmatic planet.

Still, as time went on, internal harmony began to unravel under the pressure of ambitions, fears, and the

unseen influence emanating from the ancient relics.

‘‘New Discoveries’’

The first signs that the station was on the verge of great discoveries came unexpectedly. Routine scans

conducted on the surface and deep within Salt III began detecting powerful energy surges. Initially, they

were dismissed as equipment errors or natural phenomena, but over time it became clear that these

were not random spikes. These energy anomalies were too regular, too powerful, and too purposeful.

Dundul, responsible for this sector, gathered the team to analyze the new data. It soon became evident

that the sources of these surges were located in the ancient ruins, deep beneath the planet’s surface.

Analysis showed that these surges were linked to something more significant than simple artifacts —

possibly to the awakening of a consciousness of an ancient civilization that had been dormant for

centuries in the depths of Salt III.

The more the researchers delved into their study, the more it seemed that their actions were themselves

the catalyst for this awakening. The terraforming process, which had been interrupted millennia ago,

began slowly resuming. The planet's atmosphere became cleaner, more stable; the domes that

protected the station started to disappear as if the planet itself had decided to reveal itself to its new

inhabitants.However, the joy of such discoveries quickly darkened. Along with the awakening of ancient systems,

strange and disturbing phenomena began to occur on and around the station. Researchers started

encountering mysterious visions and indistinct shadows wandering the station’s corridors. These

entities seemed not to belong to this world but were closely tied to Salt III’s past. Some researchers

claimed to have seen fragments of the past, scenes of ancient battles and destruction now coming to

life before their eyes.

On Salt III, everything seemed calm and predictable at first glance, but each day spent on this planet

brought the researchers closer to uncovering what was happening on a much deeper level. The energy

surges detected by the instruments were just the tip of the iceberg, signals that something ancient was

awakening. Initially, Dundul and his team treated these as ordinary anomalies, but over time it became

clear that they were dealing with something that could not be ignored. The awakening of the ancient

mind was not driven by malevolent intent but rather a result of ancient forces striving to return the

planet to its original, paradisiacal state.

The energy enveloping Salt III was like a massive wave that swept through space and time, and with

each wave, it grew stronger, causing changes on the planet and within the researchers themselves. This

energy began to influence people's behavior, not with the aim of harming them but as a natural process

aimed at purification and restoration.

The planet’s power manifested itself subtly, covertly. The ancient mind of Salt III did not seek to control

people directly; instead, it guided them through its energy surges, creating conditions in which they

were forced to act. Each energy impulse was a message, a riddle that needed to be solved. But to do so

required not just strength, but a deep understanding that every action had its consequences. Like an

experienced ruler, the planet did not reveal its intentions, forcing those around it to act under conditions

of uncertainty.

Salt III acted through its energy surges and influence on the researchers' consciousness, compelling

them to make decisions and take action rather than merely discussing possible options. The energy of

the ancient mind awakened hidden emotions, fears, and ambitions within people. These surges were

not aimed at destruction; rather, they forced people to confront themselves, their inner demons, and

shadows. Nature sought not to destroy but to awaken the dormant power within each individual, forcing

them to act and thus cleanse themselves.

‘‘Memories of the Past’’: As Dundul immersed himself in his work, he increasingly noticed that strange

visions engulfed his consciousness. These visions were fragments of the planet's past, where ancientcivilizations performed their rituals, connecting with the forces of nature. The visions did not just come

to him; they took hold of him entirely, immersing him in the atmosphere of a distant time when artifacts

were not relics but living, active sources of power.

In these visions, he saw ‘‘Platunus’’

— a planet that was once full of life but became a victim of its own

technology. He observed how the ‘‘Temple of Energy’’ became a center of birth and death, how energy

meant for creation turned into a destructive force. These visions were so realistic that Dundul

sometimes could not tell where reality ended and illusion began.

‘‘The planet’s awakening’’ became increasingly apparent. Salt III, like Platunus, could become a victim

of its own power if it was not managed properly. But this power did not seek to destroy its new

inhabitants — it sought to restore the planet to its former glory. Dundul understood that their actions

needed to be aimed at maintaining balance, that any wrong move could lead to disaster. And though

they longed to uncover all the secrets of this land, they also realized that their mission required special

caution and respect for the forces they encountered.

With each passing day, more intense changes occurred on Salt III. The disappearance of the domes

opened new horizons for the researchers, but also brought new challenges. The awakening of ancient

spirits and entities connected to the planet’s past became a new reality for those who remained at the

station. These entities were not malevolent, but they could not fully interact with the planet’s

inhabitants without creating discomfort and fear.

These spirits were a mixture of memories and entities, gathered into a single consciousness that tried to

reconnect with the physical world. They were nothing more than archetypal shadows trapped in the

collective unconscious, attempting to restore a lost connection with reality.

Salt III, like a king, demanded respect and understanding from those who dared to step on its surface.

The planet did not forgive mistakes, but it did not seek revenge. It wanted to restore its grandeur, and for

this, it was necessary to understand its needs and goals. Those who could act consciously and with

respect had a chance to see the planet bloom again, returning to its paradisiacal state. But those who

could not handle its powerful energy were doomed to become its victims.

The researchers and Dundul found themselves at the center of this process. They had to act like wise

rulers, maintaining a balance between power and respect for the planet's force. They stood on the brink

of great discoveries, but every action they took could lead to either restoration or destruction. Salt III

demanded not only skill but also inner maturity to deal with the challenges it presented.Dundul understood that he and his team needed to become flexible, like water, to cope with the growing

challenges. They needed to act not just with strength but with wisdom, adapting to changing conditions.

Salt III, like an ancient teacher, tested the patience and adaptability of everyone who dared to enter its

sphere of influence. Like water, which always finds a way around obstacles, Dundul and his team had to

learn to navigate the invisible barriers the planet set before them. But these barriers were not meant to

stop them but to teach them to act with caution and wisdom.

With each new energy surge, with each new encounter with ancient spirits, Dundul's team increasingly

realized that they were not controlling the process but were a part of it. The planet dictated its

conditions but also revealed its secrets to those who were ready to listen and learn. The researchers

needed to become more than just observers — they had to become partners in the great restoration

process.

Salt III, despite its power and grandeur, did not seek to subjugate its guests. It sought to restore

harmony, and for this, it needed allies, not conquered slaves. To achieve this harmony, the planet

required them to have fluidity of thought, the ability to quickly adapt to new conditions, and a readiness

to change their perspective.

Dundul felt how he himself was changing under the influence of these forces. His own connection to the

collective unconscious grew stronger every day, making him more sensitive to the vibrations and

energies emanating from the planet. He realized that they were not just researchers on a mission but

participants in a grand cosmic plan that was only beginning to unfold before them.

It was this fluidity and adaptability that allowed them to avoid the traps and dangers that could have

destroyed a less flexible and dogmatic team. They had to remain adaptable in their approaches,

constantly adjusting their actions in response to the changes occurring on Salt III. The planet’s energy

could be both creative and destructive, and only those who could tune into its wavelength could truly

benefit from it.

Instead of trying to control the planet, Dundul and his team decided to work in harmony with its forces.

They stopped perceiving the energy surges as a threat and began to see them as signs and indications

that could lead them to uncovering the great secrets of the ancient civilization. This shift in approach

allowed them not only to survive but to thrive, gradually approaching the moment when Salt III would

fully reveal its deepest secrets.Salt III continued to change, and with it, so did those living on its surface. Their mission became not just

an exploration but a journey inward, a dive into the depths of their own consciousness, where the

answers to many questions they asked themselves lay hidden. They needed to become part of this

planet so that it could become part of them, and only then could they hope that everything they had

planned would lead to a successful conclusion.

Ultimately, the success of their mission depended not on how much they learned about the planet but

on how deeply they understood themselves in the process of this knowledge. Salt III was not only a test

of their knowledge and skills but also a test of their spirit, their ability to remain fluid, adaptable, and

wise in conditions that changed every minute.

So they moved forward, attuning themselves to the planet’s rhythm, merging with its energy, and

gradually uncovering the secrets it had kept for many centuries. This journey promised to be long and

difficult, but those who could adapt, who could become fluid like water, could hope that something

great awaited them at the end, something that would justify all their efforts and trials.

The scientific team, gathered to study the ancient artifacts on Salt III, soon faced unforeseen

challenges. Initially, everyone worked in unison, striving to uncover the secrets of this mysterious

planet, but as time went on, internal harmony began to crumble under the pressure of ambitions, fears,

and the unseen influence emanating from the ancient relics.

The Mystery of Artifacts and Their Influence

Energy artifacts revealed their true nature only in the hands of those connected to their creators. This

discovery was not just a scientific fact but a blow to the team's confidence. Some artifacts that had

previously seemed harmless, in the hands of those obsessed with their creators, became sources of

power. These individuals began to feel that they could control the artifact's power, but in reality, the

artifact was controlling them.

Artifacts discovered by the team on Salt III were unique in their nature and action. Each had specific

properties and could strongly influence the environment and even the researchers themselves.

However, as they delved deeper into the study of these objects, it became evident that the power of the

artifacts could have been more unequivocally beneficial. Some, like the ‘‘Misantreon’’ (named after an

ancient artifact capable of awakening the dark sides of human nature), began to sow discord and

mistrust among the team.

‘‘Misantreon’’

, an artifact emitting dark, almost imperceptible energy, was found deep within a ruined

temple and immediately drew attention. Its influence was invisible but palpable: as soon as one of thescientists began to study it, they began to feel inexplicable suspicions toward their colleagues, fear, and

a desire to possess the artifact alone. Initially, these changes were barely noticeable, but over time,

they grew into open conflicts.

Other artifacts, such as the ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ (functionally similar to the Resurrection Stone), emitted

a bright energy that promoted healing and restoration. However, its power was also ambiguous: the

crystal demanded sacrifices, as if hinting at the inevitable balance between light and darkness.

The ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’

— a majestic artifact reminiscent of a lost civilization that may have used it to

revive or restore the deceased. But its bright aura hid a dark secret: every time someone tried to use its

power, they felt something slipping away in return, as if the crystal demanded sacrifices in exchange for

its action.

These two artifacts became the epicenters of conflict. Some scientists, obsessed with the idea of using

‘‘Misantreon’’ to uncover the secrets of the ancient civilization, insisted on further research despite its

obvious negative impact on the team. Others, on the contrary, saw in the ‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ the key to

restoring harmony on the planet, although its dark sides caused no less concern.

Conflicts Within the Team

As tension within the team grew, two opposing groups began to form. One, led by Dr. Laren, believed

that the artifacts should be studied at all costs, even if it involved certain risks. Laren argued that

without a deep understanding of the artifacts' power, they could not uncover all the planet's secrets.

Her supporters believed that the risk was justified and that the knowledge that could be extracted from

the artifacts was worth it.

The other group, led by Dr. Iris, called for caution. They saw how the influence of ‘‘Misantreon’’ and the

‘‘Crystal of Dawn’’ was changing their colleagues' behavior and believed that continuing the research

could lead to catastrophic consequences. Iris and her supporters insisted that the artifacts should be

isolated and studied remotely to avoid their negative influence.

“We cannot afford to lose our sanity for the sake of discovery,” Iris said at one of the team meetings.

“These artifacts may hold not only knowledge but also destruction. If we’re not careful, Salt III will

become our grave.”

Meanwhile, the artifacts continued to exert their influence on the researchers. Each of them felt the

pressure emanating from the ancient relics. ‘‘Misantreon’’ heightened paranoia and distrust, makingpeople more closed off and aggressive. Some even began to see their colleagues as rivals rather than

allies, leading to open conflicts and quarrels.

The Influence of Artifacts on Consciousness

The influence of the artifacts on the researchers' consciousness became increasingly apparent. Visions

that initially seemed like mere illusions began to invade their reality. Some began to experience an

inexplicable fear of the artifacts, while others felt an irresistible attraction to them. These behavioral

changes intensified, leading to conflicts within the team. Dundul, with his natural resistance to such

influences, began to notice how his colleagues were slowly but inexorably changing.

The ‘‘Shadow of Power’’, an ancient staff capable of subjugating its wielder's mind, became the focal

point of such influences. One researcher, under its influence, began to see himself as a ruler striving for

power at any cost. These visions were so vivid that he began to perceive his colleagues as threats to his

future greatness.

The researchers realized that they needed to protect themselves and their team from the artifacts'

influence. They began creating protective gear designed to block the relics' effects on consciousness.

The team also started training to strengthen their inner resilience and concentration to withstand the

forces contained in the artifacts. Dundul, with his innate mental defense abilities, became a mentor for

others, teaching them methods of resisting ancient influences.

Chaotic Control

At the peak of the crisis, when ‘‘Misantreon’’'s influence reached its zenith, the team faced the greatest

danger. The energy released by the artifact began to break down the station’s defense systems.

Everything seemed doomed to fail. But those who remained sane knew that chaos could only be

controlled by embracing it. The team’s actions, which seemed chaotic and meaningless, were actually

meticulously calculated.

Even the most powerful protective measures could not fully shield them from the artifacts' influence.

When the incident with ‘‘Misantreon’’ occurred, the station plunged into chaos. The dark energy

released by the artifact began to spread at an unimaginable speed, like a living entity seeking to engulf

everything in its path. Everything happened so quickly that it seemed each moment teetered on the

brink of destruction.The team, gripped by panic, froze in terror at the unmanageable force. But those who remained

conscious immediately pulled themselves together. Without a word, as if by an invisible command, they

began to act. The intricate dance of interactions that unfolded at the station appeared chaotic and

unstructured to an external observer, but within this chaos, there was hidden harmony.

Every action was part of a complex plan, with each note played at the right moment. The entire team,

acting as one, began working, creating a symphony out of chaos. They knew they couldn’t fully suppress

‘‘Misantreon’’’s energy, but they could redirect it. At the moment of climax, the artifact was encased in a

protective field and transported to an indestructible vault. This step was necessary to save the station

and continue their mission.

When it was all over, silence reigned on the station. The researchers realized they had encountered

something beyond their understanding. But they also realized that the power contained within the

artifacts could be both creative and destructive. It was important not to suppress it but to learn to work

with it, respecting its nature.

Now they knew their mission was not just a scientific inquiry but a spiritual journey, in which they had to

find a balance between the thirst for knowledge and respect for the forces they were unveiling. Salt III

continued to hold its secrets, but now the team was prepared for new challenges, understanding that

their success depended not only on knowledge but on their ability to maintain balance between light

and darkness.

And only time would tell whether they could uncover all the mysteries of this enigmatic planet without

losing their humanity in the process.

“These artifacts,” Dundul said as the situation on the station began to stabilize, “can give us answers to

many questions. But they can also lead to our demise if we don’t learn to understand and respect them.

We must remember that the power hidden within them can be both creative and destructive.”

This incident was a turning point for the team on Salt III. The conflicts and disagreements that nearly led

to disaster showed how dangerous the misuse of the artifacts' power could be. The researchers

understood that their mission was not only about the pursuit of knowledge but also about maintaining a

balance between the thirst for discovery and caution.Salt III continued to hold its secrets, and each day brought new challenges. However, the team now

acted with greater caution, understanding that every action they took had consequences not only for

themselves but for the entire planet. And though they continued to strive to uncover the secrets of the

ancient civilization, they knew that their success depended on their ability to maintain unity and respect

for the forces they had encountered.

Thus, the station on Salt III became not only a place of scientific research but also an arena where

human ambitions and fears clashed with ancient forces awakened from a deep slumber. And only time

would tell whether they could uncover all the mysteries of this enigmatic planet without losing the most

valuable thing — their humanity.

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guyfieriii · 2 years

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New Person, Same Old Mistakes

After multiple rewatches of The Bear over the last month, I've been sucked back in and couldn't think of anything else but Carmen Berzatto.

Here's part one of four of a little something about our favourite depressed chef's years in NYC.

Part II, Part III and Part IV

He looks like he doesn’t really want to be here. At this date. If you could even call it that.

A drink tomorrow night. How does that sound?

I can’t meet up at nights. Work.

Oh.

I can meet you in the morning.

For breakfast?

Why not?

Why the fuck not?

A non-date you hauled ass all the way from Brooklyn at the crack of dawn.

An over-exaggeration, but it’s one you feel entitled to. You’ve taken a 46-minute train ride for breakfast with a man who looks like he just crawled out of bed. Which is a miracle since he looks as though he’s been up for days. It’s not just the exhaustion that rolls off him, there’s something else you can’t quite find the word for. You wanted to turn back the moment you saw him standing outside the bodega.

But for some reason, you kept walking. Equal parts curiosity and obligation. You made it this far, might as well see it through.

Also—

He was by no means unattractive. Looked a lot like a coked-up Gene Wilder, if you were being honest. Clad in a tight, albeit wrinkled white t-shirt and a pair of vintage jeans. Redline Selvedge. You concede to the fact that he somehow managed to pull off the ‘I got ready in under two minutes’ look quite well. Messy. Understated. Kind of hot. It was his hair that really brought it all together, sandy locks that stuck out in different directions like he’d run his hand through them over and over.

Your hand twinged at the thought.

Every time he lifted his arm to take a drag of his cigarette, you distinctly noticed the way his bicep bulged under his sleeve.

Christ, that’s…something.

He noticed you walk over and offered you a sort of smile with the raise of a brow, and fuck if it wasn’t endearing.

You finally took proper notice of his eyes. Blue. Crystalline. Ocean strong waves of azure in the warmth of sun-lit currents. They were strangely emotive, despite his face remaining fairly impassive. Despondency echoed through them quietly. They were a far cry from what you saw online.

You still admired them when you were scrolling through Tinder and came upon his profile. He had one photo - he wore a white coat in it, the ones that the guys on MasterChef wear. Like it was a professional headshot. He stood, leaning against a metal worktable with his arms crossed. Hair slicked back, with a ruminative look on his face. But his eyes—

They were hollow. A sepulchral for all sentiments buried deep within.

His bio read:

Carmen, 29

Chicagoan. CDC at Eleven Madison Park.

That’s all it said. His name, age, and profession. Like it was a fucking resume. You scoffed at the bare effort he put in. As if a picture and a brief description of his occupation were enough to lure the ladies in. Just as you were going to move on to the next man in a series of disappointments, you accidentally swiped right and matched with him.

Hours of scrolling and a bottle of Pinot later, it seemed like he was your best and only option. So you messaged him. He was good-looking enough if only a tad underwhelming in what he put forth. What was the harm in trying him out?

What indeed?

Seeing him in the harsh light of day, he looked entirely different from the put together guy you saw on his profile. Still good looking, just—

Tragic.

That was the word you were looking for.

“Carmen?”

“Uh, yeah.” He flicked off his half-smoked cigarette to the side and wiped his hands down his jeans before offering you one for a shake. It feels rough but warm. Calloused. A worker’s hands. Hands that could tell chronicle a novel’s worth of stories, you’re sure. You can feel bits of raised skin across his palm, around his fingers. Little scars littered all over. You want to examine them all.

You turn your wrist underneath to see a tattoo on the back of his, a knife piercing the hand.

Christ.

A few seconds pass as you examine the rest of his tattoos. He has a pair of cherubs holding up a Sun on his upper arm, and a snail with the words ‘Live Fast’ underneath.

Your gaze drifts over to his other arm—

You’re interrupted by an awkward clearing of his throat and you realize you’ve been holding on to him, shaking his hand for the better part of a minute. You let go immediately, your palm still tingling from the feeling of his. The air kisses your skin, it’s light, empty, remiss of the character you found in his touch.

“Sorry, I was just—“ Your eyes meet his once again and you’re lost.

“It’s cool.” He mutters. “I, uh—“

“So what’s the — Sorry, you—“

“No you go—“

“I—“

“Sorry, I don’t—“

The two of you stammer over each other in constant apology before you finally put it to a halt with an uncomfortable laugh.

“I was just asking what the plan was.” You look around the block, nothing but the bodega seems to be open this early. “Where are we going to eat?”

“Right…here?” He looks at you with mild hesitance, pointing towards the bodega.

“We’re eating breakfast here?” He has to be joking in an oddly genuine way because he looks like he-

Oh God. It’s not a joke.

You woke up at 7 am, got onto the subway, and switched three trains for a fucking BEC.

He looks at you in deepening discomfort, a little sheepish, only just realizing that this may not be the ideal date most women have in mind. His eyes brimmed with repentance.

Those eyes.

“It’s, uh- it’s fine!” You say with an overstated tone of cheerfulness. “I’m starving, anyway.”

“Right.” He looks unconvinced but opens the door for you, nonetheless.

“‘Uarda, Carmy!” A woman, probably in her late 60s, seated behind the counter broke into a smile as the two of you entered. “The fuck ya been, huh?”

“Work, Lucia.” His tone conveys ire, but his face betrays him.

He looks at the woman with softened fondness as she fusses over him. She’s loud and over-exaggerated in her mannerisms, hands animatedly gesticulating every word. All the while, Carmen — Carmy, stands there indulging her every word with the occasional apologetic glance spared your way.

It’s a charming sight, watching the two of them talk. Lucia is loud and mothering and Carmen is reserved.

“Didn’cha mother teach ya any manners, boy? Who’s the darlin’ behind ya?” She finally ends her tirade of ‘the fuck you been?’, ‘never show ya face ‘round no more’, ‘eat a lil’ somethin’ f’fuck’s sake’ and notices you. “Don’t mind him, sweetheart. The fuck’s been mezzamort ever since he moved here.”

“I’m, uh—.” His date? To a fucking bodega?

“She’s a friend.” Carmen interjects quickly.

“Since when do you have—“ Lucia scoffs, incredulous.

“A friend who’d love some breakfast, actually.” You cut in, wanting to spare him the end of that sentence.

He wouldn’t have friends, would he? Doesn’t seem like the kind to.

Maybe you could—

“Should’a said — yo Gino! Get two BECs going on a — ya’ll have it on a bagel or a roll, doll?” She snaps into action immediately.

“Uh, a bagel. Thank y—“

“Hear that? A bagel for her, roll for Carmy.” She yells across the other end of the small bodega to the teenage boy sitting over two milk crates, scrolling on his phone. “Get off ya fuckin’ ass, Gino! Gotta feed these kids.”

The boy gets up with an exaggerated eye roll and strolls over to the flattop to get your breakfast started. “SPK?” He questions in a monotone over his shoulder.

“‘Course she’ll have it, ya moron.” Lucia answers for you.

“She’s a bit much.” Carmen is back at your side whispering in a low voice, apologetic. “But she means well.”

“No, she’s great.”

The two of you stand in silence, watching your sandwiches being made. With Lucia now occupied, it’s awkward once again. You’re not usually at a loss for words, but Carmen isn’t a man who oozes approachability. Not that you’ve known him longer than a few minutes. Maybe, eventually—

Maybe, you could—

“Coffee?” He asks, walking to the self-serve station behind you.

“Hmm?” You shake your head, snapping back to reality. “Oh. Yeah, sure. Cream and two sugars, please.”

What is it about him that makes think of any kind of eventuality? You’ve only just met. It’s been awkward and stilted, and he looks like a mess. The only things know about him are summed up in a one-line bio. Maybe it’s your desperation. Your sheer need to be coupled up regardless of the clear red flags you see.

Maybe it’s his eyes. Maybe it’s the sense you get from him, this veiled potential. Maybe you’re just a fool looking to fix a man you don’t even know.

You’re both back out on the sidewalk, coffee in hand, sandwiches packed in a little bag that hangs off his wrist. “Are we—“ You’re unsure of how to phrase your question without sounding like an idiot, but there’s no way around it. “Are we eating on the sidewalk?”

That earns you a disbelieving laugh and a smile you’ll remember. Only because it just seems so out of place. His lips curl up just the slightest in a barely there, you’ll miss it if you don’t really look kind of way. It’s all in his eyes. They lighten. The pensive wistfulness that floats in those pools of glacial blue volatilizes. What takes place in its stead is just a hint of ease and good-natured humour. It makes him look his age, just for that brief moment.

“The park? Yeah? Thought it’d be a good spot.” It’s jarring just how his consternation inches back in as quickly as it had disappeared.

“The park’s great, Carmy.” You say it, his nickname, without thinking. Your tone is soft with the intention to mollify.

He looks at you in surprise and you’re worried you got too familiar too quickly. But then it comes back — that ease. His brows dip slightly, and that faint wisp of a smile returns. The fact that you were able to bring it forth fills you with this warmth. It imbibes itself in your bones, coursing through your body, settling around your heart. It beats faster.

Faster still, as you watch him run his fingers through his hair, once, twice, thrice. You’re enthralled.

If you could just reach out and—

“Let’s go?” He takes a step forward and turns to look back at you when you don’t move. Your gaze falls down to his hand, the one he ran through his hair with. More tattoos. A flower on the back and the letters ‘S O U’ on his fingers. Your own fingers itch to intertwine themselves with his. Feel the warmth of his palm, pass by the ridges of his scars like they’re milestones on a road not taken. At any rate, isn’t that what people do, when they go for a walk on a date? Hold hands?

Jesus Christ, listen to you. One look underneath his lugubrious nature, and you’re fucking smitten.

“Sorry—“ You blink twice, pushing out from behind your thoughts. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You walk side by side, hands apart.

It’s a short walk, just a couple blocks. You enter the park through the side gate and pick the first empty bench you find and take a seat. You unwrap your breakfast in silence, setting your sandwiches down on paper napkins between you.

It’s still not what you’d have had in mind for a first date and yet, you’re content. It’s a warm morning for an early spring day in New York. Lightness flickers through your hair with the Eastertide breeze — it carries with it the scent of blossoming ephemerals, the hyacinths, and magnolias that grow at your feet. It’s a cool zephyr enveloped in the warmth of the sun, almost quixotic for a morning spent in the park. The best of both worlds, really. Refreshing the air in your lungs with each breath, just as springtime offers the start of something anew. Yet, the apricity that lingers under the sunlight shining from the east brings about this effortless comfort out there in the open.

It’s all so ideal, it pushes you to be brave.

“Can I ask you something?” You turn sideways, now sitting cross-legged on the bench.

“Yeah, sure.” Carmy follows suit, facing toward you, feet still planted on the ground.

“You don’t go on many dates, do you?” You blurt the words out in a straightforward tone, it might as well have been a statement and not an inquiry.

“That obvious?” He traces this bottom lip with his fingers in nervousness.

“Well—“ You shrug, noncommittal, with a sly smile.

“Yeah. I don’t date. I don’t really have the time.” He sounds almost defeated like he’s settled into what his circumstances are.

You don’t like it.

“So what made you come out with me?” You press on and hope his answer isn’t as resigned as he looks.

“I—“ He looks away from you, lips curling into a frown and you can see his mind churning behind his eyes for an acceptable response.

Oh.

You’re not special. He didn’t make time. His interest in you was just as much of happenstance as you accidentally swiping right on him.

“It’s alright, I kinda put you on the spot with that question.” You try not to sound too sullen. It’s silly. In a span of a few minutes, you’ve gone from apprehension to being so taken with him all because—

His eyes flash back to yours and he looks so fucking apologetic, it hurts.

You’re desperate to change the subject. “Tell me about your work. You’re a chef at Eleven Madison, right?”

“Yeah.” One word. That’s all he offers.

“It’s like the best restaurant in the country. That must be…cool.”

It breaks through the ambiguity caused by your previous question and you’re relieved.

“Yeah. It's…cool.” His jaw tightens just by a fraction and you wonder why. But that’s a thread best left alone.

“I know fuck all about food, forget all that fancy stuff you probably make—” Flattery is the safest bet for you at this point. So you decide to play to his ego a touch. “—So you’ll have to help me out here.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I’ll start simple. What’s your favourite thing to cook?”

That makes him pause. “At work?”

“Yeah. At work. What’s your favourite thing to make?” You offer him an encouraging smile.

“I—“ Why is this so hard for him? He fidgets with the lid of his coffee cup.

“Can’t be that hard to think of something, Carmy.”

“It’s not, I just — I’m CDC now. Spend more time on the pass than anything so—“

“What does that mean?”

“CDC. Chef de Cuisine. Kinda like-“

“Okay so you’re the head bitch in charge?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He scoffs. “So I’m at the pass — the part of the line where all chits are called out the plated dishes are put up.”

“So you don’t cook much anymore?”

“I used to before—“

“Okay, so before, what was the thing you loved to make?”

He actually seems to give it some thought. You watch him silently mull over, as you take a bite of your sandwich.

“Wild boar with celeriac, lingonberry, and hazelnuts.” He finally answers, definitively.

“That sounds…simple.”

“The wild boar was dry-aged for 21 days. The celeriac was in the form of a yolk. The hazelnut oil was compressed in-house. The peels were used to smoke the lingonberry gelée.” He says with a challenging raise of a brow.

Oh, he’s showing off.

“What the fuck?” You exclaim in utter disbelief. “A yolk?”

“Yeah, I spherified the purée with sodium alginate in a calcium gluconate bath.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing.

“I failed 8th-grade chemistry, so you really fucked me up just now.”

He snorts at that. “Didn’t do so hot in school, either. But when it comes to food I—“

“Finding your passion in something just makes shit you thought was hard a whole lot easier, doesn’t it?” If only the same held true for you. All you had to account for was a series of failed starts, an apartment you could barely afford in a city where you knew no one, and a directionless future ahead.

“What’s yours?” He asks, his eyes bore into you and you shy away from their intensity.

You walked right into that.

“I…don’t know yet.” You frown self-consciously.

“Kinda seems like you do.”

You don’t. All you know is how to say the right thing at the right moment. A skill cultivated out of your sheer dread of not being what others need. You have no experiences to share, you’ve done nothing but fail. School. Jobs. Relationships. You’re a fuck-up. So you’ve resigned yourself to the next best thing you can be — you can be something for someone else, if not yourself.

“I—“ You keep your eyes downcast, not wanting to give yourself away. “I really don’t.”

“Heard.” You glance back up at him and are only met with recognition. It eases the tightness in your chest.

“What’s that?”

“It’s what you say in the kitchen when you acknowledge what you’re being told.”

“Oh, that’s cool. I’m stealing that.”

“You’d have to follow it up with ‘Chef’ for it to really stick, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Heard, Chef.”

“That’s perfect.” It’s back, that smile. A mere tendril of one at his lips, but it bleeds from his eyes.

Fuck, it feels good.

Maybe, eventually.

Maybe, you could—

You finish your breakfast in idle chatter. You ask him about the rest of his tattoos.

“It kinda looks like an ‘E 22’ from one angle and ‘733’ from another.” Your fingers trace the ink decorating his arm.

“Yeah. 733 is the area code for Chicago and E22 is a dishwasher code for when the filter’s blocked.” You feel the muscles rippling under flex under your touch.

“I kinda want a tattoo.” You don’t draw your hand away.

“What would you get?” He doesn’t seem to mind.

“How many other dishwasher codes are there? Do I have some to pick from or just the one?”

He tells you more about things he likes to cook. You meet him in the middle with your one-pan pasta recipe and slowly watch the horror creep into his face.

“Don’t knock it till you try it, Carmy.”

“Worked with food long enough to know what doesn’t work. And pasta cooked in canned tomatoes and half and half doesn’t work.”

He tells you some things about his life in Chicago. He mentions his siblings but the look on his face tells you it’s not a topic you ought to probe at. It’s repentant in some parts and reminiscent in others. But there’s also this resonant anger beneath it. You see the tick in his jaw, the way his fingers tap against the lid of his cup a bit faster, and the way he adjusts his position to sit a bit straighter. All to distract from the hurt. You recognize it because it’s something you do yourself.

“My family’s not come to see me. I’ve — uh been too busy.”

“Neither has mine.” But you have all the time in the world. You don’t say that, though.

You try and lighten the mood by telling him about your life as a gig worker. Ever since you moved to the city, you’ve barely managed to hold down a job for longer than 6 months at the time. So you wised up and made sure to have back-ups. Whenever you’ve brought that up on dates, you’ve only been met with thinly veiled judgment. But Carmy-

“It’s kinda like working in the kitchen. No two days are the same. Keeps shit interesting.”

That’s a good way to look at it, you decide.

In under the span of a couple hours, you leave his company feeling better. The breakfast was pretty decent. Carmy assured you it’s the best of what you’d find in the neighbourhood.

“I don’t fuck with brunch.” He’d said. You’d laughed, but he was serious. “It’s a hell shift, and I can’t eat without picturing how fucked they are back of house.”

You part ways with a hug and a promise of a text from him for whenever he’s free next.

“I’m going back to Chicago for a couple days in a few weeks. But when I’m back—“

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’d like to see you again.”

The weeks passed, and you waited.

The text never came.

#carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fic #the bear hulu #the bear fx

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talonabraxas · 4 months

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🔹The Sirians🔹 Talon Abraxas

Uncovering Your Cosmic Origins: Traits, Gifts & Soul Mission of Sirian Starseeds on Earth

The Sirius Star System: Home of Sirian Starseeds

Sirius binary star system located approximately 8.7 light years from Earth in the Canis Major constellation. Comprises Sirius A, the brightest star visible in the night sky, and a smaller white dwarf Sirius B orbiting Sirius A. Sirius B was once a larger, brighter star than Sirius A in the distant past before evolving into a white dwarf.

Sirius is known by many names in ancient Earth cultures including “Dog Star” and “Nile Star.” Egyptians based the calendar on Sirius helical rising coinciding with the Nile annual flooding. Marked winter season for Polynesians and chronicled in ancient Vedic scriptures.

Sirius A believed inhabited by highly advanced spiritual beings focused on overseeing the ascension of the Sirius system itself. Sirius B original home of Sirian starseeds before the system underwent cosmic evolution. Sirians from advanced water planets were forced to evacuate when Sirius B transformed from a gaseous state into a white dwarf star. Although the home world forever changed, spiritual wisdom and technologies survived to pass down ensuing generations.

The Soul Mission of Sirian Starseeds on Earth

What drives Sirians to voluntarily incarnate on Earth again and again even when the planet is still so chaotic and dense? Each starseed has an overarching mission guiding its incarnations, though the specifics will vary. Here are some of the core objectives behind the Sirian Starseed soul contracts:

Activate higher dimensional portals and light grids on Earth’s power points and sacred sites. Sirians are encoded with advanced sacred geometrical information and wisdom from Atlantis which can energize and stabilize the crystalline grid now rising.

Anchor light and frequency through their energy field and presence. By simply existing in a high vibration of love, gratitude, and inner peace, they raise the resonance of their environment and touch all souls they contact.

Awaken humanity to its true origins, unlimited potential, and purpose for being here now. Sirians remind us of our divine nature and push us to expand our limited beliefs.

Prepare humanity for open contact with the galactic community of benevolent interstellar civilizations. Sirians educate people on ETs and bridge the gap between human and cosmic perspectives.

Teach advanced technology and innovation to be responsibly integrated for the planet’s greater good. As technically skilled as they are spiritually adept, Sirians guide how humanity can evolve through technology without misusing it.

Be spiritual teachers, healers, and leaders who reveal higher truths and inspire people to live in harmony, peace, and unity. Their wisdom and grace touch people’s hearts.

Protect and speak up for the vulnerable, oppressed, excluded, or environment. Sirians act from a place of selfless compassion that honors all life.

Help shift humanity out of duality consciousness, fear-based programming, and rigid belief systems by embodying Unconditional Love and unity consciousness.

As multidimensional light beings, Sirians work on many levels and domains to uplift humanity’s understanding and play a pivotal role at this incredible time in our planet’s ascension process.

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novantinuum · 7 months

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Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences Words: 3.8K~ Summary: A young human-Gem hybrid- a soul yet unknown to the rest of the Crystal Gems- takes their first brave steps towards greeting their heritage firsthand.

W o e, more OC content be upon ye

In this one, Jean meets Greg and the Crystal Gems. (There's a bit of Greg POV at the beginning, just to mix things up.) I had so much indulgent fun writing it, and hope anyone who checks it out enjoys.

Enjoy! <3

Absentmindedly humming a few bars of a commercial jingle he must’ve overheard on TV the other day, Greg finishes stirring up some instant oatmeal he just took out of the microwave. It’s a bit of a late breakfast for his tastes given the clock is nearing 10:45, but hey- anything’s better than nothing. Better to eat now than to find oneself running on low energy by lunchtime.

He licks his lips in anticipation, and carries the bowl over to the beach house’s living room couch.

Stars, what’s on his docket today beyond breakfast, anyways?

Groceries, for one. He’s running low on milk, butter, parmesan cheese, spaghetti sauce, and a number of vegetables. If he really wants to think ahead, now would also be a great time to stock up on bagels to toss in the freezer for later. No matter how many of those he buys, he always seems to be running out of ‘em. It’s also one of Steven’s days off from work, thus a good opportunity to try a video call. His son doesn’t always answer immediately, but that’s okay. He’s a grown adult now, a soul yearning to forge his own identity separate from the people and place he called home back in childhood. He needs his own space, and sometimes that just means ignoring your clingy ol’ man until you feel ready to chat.

And then, of course there’s his ongoing music project he can work on— a concept album of sorts, chronicling the tale of an optimistic, yet lonely young musician and his lover from beyond the stars. For nearly two decades her death silenced his work, but… seeing her framed face on the nightstand next to him every morning when he wakes up… living so close to the crystalline stage he knelt on when he sung his first romantic ballad to her… it must’ve stirred some aching desire that he hasn’t entertained in a very long while. He’s written about half of this album in the span of the last two months, and hopes to complete it by the end of the year. Beyond that he’s not sure where this project will take him… whether he’ll keep these songs close to his chest or email his old industry contact Sunshine Justice and see if she can hook him up with a decent recording studio for ‘em. Only time will tell, in the end. He’s got options.

But before he can get more than a few spoonfuls of oatmeal under his belt and reliably plan out his day, his musings are interrupted by a timid knock rapping against the front door.

Greg sighs, setting the bowl aside on the coffee table as he gets up to check who’s here.

If he had to guess, it’s most likely a recently arrived Gem— spellbound and confused— desperately trying to locate Little Homeschool after seeing one his son’s many adverts about it. That’s the most common visitor they see at the house entrance these days, beyond the rare training visit from Connie to refresh her sword fighting skills with Pearl. He’s not sure who else would go to all the trouble of hiking across the beach to reach this place. And anyways, if he’s visiting human friends in town, he always walks to their houses.

Which is why he’s surprised to open the door and see just… what seems to be a human stranger standing there, hands stuffed in pockets and expression filled with palpable apprehension.

The stranger is young— easily Steven’s age or younger— with a shock of short, wavy brown hair and teal tinted glasses, clad in overalls and a pair of ratty old tennis shoes.

He waves a quick greeting, a potent dose of curiosity painting his tone.

“Hi, uh… can I help you…?”

“Should I even be doing this?” Jean mutters to themself as they trudge down the far side of the beach, following the directions the cute pizza shop girl gave them last night.

But the closer they creep towards their destination, the sillier this whole stupid trip starts to feel. So they expect to… what? Simply drop in uninvited to the home of four of the most influential beings in the whole galaxy, and say “hey, guess what, you never knew I existed but I’m actually a half-Gem too?” Ughh. Oh, geeze. This was such a bad idea. Why did Dad even agree to bring them here? And what do they even want from this? To train? To harness whatever hypothetical powers they might have resting dormant within their gemstone? To… to just go on one of those zany, magical adventures they always dreamed about as a kid? To be freely invited into their little school for Gems? (Even though they’re not a Gem… not in all the ways that matter, at least.) Are they hoping to uproot their entire life and outright live here one day? Or are they literally only here because they’re craving closure to the questions they’ve been asking their entire life— who was Mother? Who am I? Is there any place in this vast universe for people like me?

What do I actually want to do with my life?

Heaving a long, exhausted sigh, they trek onwards anyways. After such a long road trip to reach this place, it’d be unthinkable to back down now.

A set of crumbled but monolithic stone arms come into view a few dozen paces further, a mere taster of the majestic vista awaiting them on the furthest point of the peninsula. Jean’s seen plenty of pictures of Beach City’s infamous temple statue online, sure— images of a regal, curly haired figure boasting enough limbs to rival a goddess— but nothing can prepare them for the sheer level of spellbinding awe that courses through their soul as they break around the edge of the cliff and finally gape upon it with their own two eyes. As melodramatic as the sentiment may sound, seeing this temple for themself is like tasting air for the first time, like waking up from a decade long fantasy to a world more vivid and colorful than they could’ve ever dreamed. Surely not a single photographer alive could capture the true scale of this ancient carving. A watery smile stretches across their cheeks while they drink in the sight. The cliffside is mossier than they expected. The earthy greens make for such lovely contrast against the colder browns and grays. Then, their gaze drops towards the statue’s navel… to the humble beach house nestled there within a set of stone arms.

Here it is. This is the place. There’s no turning back now, not unless they want to return to their motel room a coward.

Their hands fidget restlessly at their side as they climb up the sandy stairs leading to the porch. When they reach the top, they cross towards the front door and— heart pounding— rap their knuckles against the frame as politely as they can muster.

Beat.

Jean can hear the shuffling of feet from inside. They shove their hands in their pockets as the footfalls grow closer and closer, before—

The door swings open. Their expression narrows in bemusement. The person they’re greeted by isn’t one of the famed Crystal Gems, but rather… a human. A somewhat plain looking human, if they’re frank. (Which— in this situation— is a good thing, because it finally disarms the sheer spine tingling anxiety that was racing up and down through their veins prior.) The portly individual looks to be somewhere around their father’s age, with greying shoulder-length hair and a full beard. He’s sporting shorts and what looks to be a band t-shirt.

The man flashes a quick wave, and then speaks.

“Hi, uh… can I help you…?”

Jean scrunches their nose— a nervous twitch they’re unfortunately hyper-conscious of in high pressure situations like these— before working to piece together a halfway coherent sentence.

“I, um— y-you don’t know me, but my name is Jean. Jean Maverick, and I’m… well, I’m kinda hoping to—”

Before they can even reveal the crux of their mission, they feel this person’s full attention fixate upon the upper facets of their pale gemstone, just visible over the neckline of their shirt. His eyes widen.

“O-oh, yes,” they interrupt their own introduction, cheeks reddening. “That. Y’see, I may not look it, but I’m actually part Gem, like all the Gems who live here in town, a-and—”

He shakes his head, giving a laugh tinged with a bit of what they can only describe as sheer disbelief. “No, no, trust me— I more than understand this kinda stuff. I’m Greg Universe,” he says, extending his hand in greeting. “My, uh… my son’s like you.”

It’s Jean’s turn for their eyes to blow wide open with shock.

“You- you’re Steven’s dad,” they breathe, reaching out for his offered shake.

“Yup, guilty as charged. Now, what can I do for ‘ya? You looking for Steven? The Gems?”

“Well, I was hoping to talk with the Crystal Gems, b-but…” They pause, their brow wrinkling inwards as the ticking cogs of their mind consider the possible implications of their fellow hybrid’s father being present. “Steven’s not here now, is he? I heard he left town a while back…”

“Nah, he did. He’s out living on the west coast right now. The Gems, however… now that I can help you with.”

Introductory small-talk concluded, Mr. Universe invites them inside to wait for the Gems, grabbing his phone from his pocket to— they can only assume— shoot a quick text to one of ‘em.

Jean glances around the interior of the house with ample curiosity, admiring the dense collection of old CDs and cassette tapes that fills much of the shelf space behind the couch. It looks like mostly classic rock and a bit of R&B, many of them artists they don’t recognize. (Though the name Kerry Moonbeam leaps out at them— they remember jamming to a few of his top hits while on the road with Dad, like “Midnight Spectacle” and “Life on Venus.”) On the top shelf there’s an intricately detailed pink sword on display, shattered just beyond the hilt. And on the far wall midway up the stairs they spot a colorful canvas portrait, featuring what looks like a grinning, teenaged Steven sitting at the front and Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl poised behind.

All in all, it’s a very cozy, lived-in space… enough so to almost distract them from the crystalline cavern connected directly to the living area. Their interest immediately piqued, they give a sharp exhale and advance a few steps closer. Is that…? Why, yes it is! It’s a warp pad, just like the ones they’ve seen pictures of online. (And one in person, thanks to a tip from a local.) From all their research it seems that there’s a whole network of these low, crystal platforms stretching across the surface of the Earth. And as rumors go, Gems can use them to travel from one point to another near instantaneously. Jean has no idea if this ability is one that translates to half-Gems, though. They had no luck with the one they visited years back.

Their mouth scrunches into a little frown upon that musing. There’s still so, so much about Gems they don’t know, isn’t there?

“So, Jean,” Mr. Universe says, finishing up with his phone. “Where’d you say you were from, again?”

“Prudence, Calizona?” And when his expression merely wrinkles in unawareness, they add: “It’s, um… a small university town out in the middle of the desert, so I’m not surprised you aven’t heard of it way out here.”

“And you traveled all the way to Beach City just to meet with the Gems? Wow, that’s… a pretty big journey for someone your age. This must be real important to you.”

“Well, there’s no Gems out there,” they explain with a shrug. “I’ve always known I was different, but— I never got to learn anything about that part of my heritage, y’know? So that’s why I’m here, I guess. For answers.”

“Well, I really hope you can find what you’re looking for.”

Jean’s gaze drifts down towards the gem inlaid in their chest. “Yeah,” they say, resting their palm over the central facet. “So do I.”

A tiny frown blooms across the man’s face as he observes them further. They rock back and forth upon their heels as they attempt to dodge his frustratingly intuitive gaze, unsure of what else to say or ask. Such lingering attention makes them feel twitchy.

“Here, why don’t you have a seat,” he offers then, gesturing towards the flat cushioned sofa against the far wall of the living area. “They should be inbound any minute now. Can’t imagine them dawdling on news like this, heh. And hey, uh… while you wait, d’ya want anything to drink, or snack on, or—?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” they say, sitting themself down on the far edge of the couch and noting the soggy bowl of oatmeal left half uneaten on the coffee table right in front. It’s bad enough that they’re crashing this man’s morning routine, the last thing they want to do is completely put him out. Not to mention, he probably doesn't have much they could safely digest, anyways.

True to his word though, the famed Crystal Gems arrive on the warp pad with not a second to waste, ringed in by a beam of dazzling cyan light and the platform’s resonant chime. Heart pounding a coward’s thrall, Jean averts their gaze low to keep from downright staring at the trio.

Holy fucking shit.

“We came as soon as we could,” the pale, lithe one— Pearl— says to Mr. Universe, crossing straight into the living room like a soul on a mission with the other two hot on her heels.

It’s them. It’s actually them. The Gems they’ve dreamt of meeting ever since they were just a starry-eyed preteen researching a small town mystery in the vicious trenches of obscure conspiracy theory message boards. Their jaw falls entirely ajar in the shock of it all. Oh stars, be cool, be cool, be cool—!

“—is our mystery visitor?” Pearl continues with a quick gesture towards them, the first half of her sentence consigned to auditory oblivion with how damn rapid fire Jean’s thoughts are blasting around their head.

Mr. Universe nods.

“Yeah, I was grabbin’ some breakfast, and she—” (they don’t bother to suppress that instinctive cringe. Hoo boy, they really need to step in and complete their introduction ASAP, huh)— “just showed up at the door, askin’ after you.”

“They,” Jean blurts out, mouth entirely dry with anxiety at this point.

“Huh?”

“It’s… they, actually. They/them. Sorry, I- I kinda forgot to mention.”

His brows shoot up in understanding. “Ahh, gotcha. My apologies for not asking. Anyways, these are the Gems! Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl… though I get the sense you’ve already done your research, huh?”

They nod, still working to shake that hazy, star-stricken sensation out of their system.

“So then, mysterious stranger,” the shorter, purple Gem— Amethyst— says, sliding right across the living room towards them. “What’s your whole deal? Gimme all those good deets!”

“I, uh… well, I’m Jean,” they stammer, clasping their hands together behind their back. “Jean Maverick. I’m eighteen, I use they/them pronouns as I just mentioned, and… my mother… was a Gem.”

They tug down the scooped neckline of their shirt ever so slight, revealing the full cut of their pale lavender gemstone to the room. Pearl lets out an audible gasp. The other two simply gape in stunned silence, not uttering a single word at all.

“And now you probably understand why I called you over,” Mr. Universe comments, gesturing towards them.

“Another hybrid?” Amethyst says, her brow furrowing as she glances up at Garnet, the tallest of the bunch. “Like Steven? Is that even possible?”

“It is now,” Garnet replies with an almost mystified tone, crossing her arms as she leans back against the counter.

“But for a Gem to shapeshift human reproductive organs for that long,” Pearl muses, hand balled at her chin as she paces back and forth across the wooden slats. “Stars, for anyone but a diamond, that should be unachievable!”

The purple quartz simply waves the notion away. “Pshh, nah, that part’s easy, P- you just poof, and then reform with those organs! I do it with a stomach like, all the time. Mainly, I’m just surprised that another Gem would come up with the idea to have a baby in the first place.”

“Or that another Gem was living on Earth uncorrupted all this time, and we never knew,” Garnet comments, expression uncertain.

They swallow hard. Normally they consider themself pretty skilled at overanalyzing people’s emotions— an unexpected perk of living with generalized anxiety— but Garnet in particular is dauntingly hard for them to read right now. Pearl’s an easy one… she’s invested in the mystery of their arrival here today, too busy sorting the potential puzzle pieces in her mind to give anything else surrounding her much notice. Amethyst seems equally as puzzled by their presence, although out of the three of them it’s her who’s been the most accommodating of their awkwardness, so far. (Jean thinks back to how Amethyst leapt in amidst that weird conversational lull to give them a chance to officially introduce themself, and finds it rather perceptive of her.) Garnet, though—? Is her tense yet closed-off body language signaling confusion? (At how they could exist?) Vexation? (That they exist?) Distrust, even?? (That they’re here, now?) Or is she chewing over something else entirely, something they couldn’t ever hope to guess with their extremely limited outsider’s context?

And why do they care so much about how the three of them feel in the first place? Chill, Jean. Geeze.

“Well, if it helps,” they shrug, “my dad said he met my mother out in the wilderness of Calizona, while on a backpacking trip.”

“Calizona, eh…” Amethyst says, squinting as she thinks. “Hey, wait— the Beta Kindergarten’s out that way, yeah?”

“What exactly are you suggesting?” Pearl asks, her eyes lighting up with clear intrigue.

“I’m saying… isn’t it possible that Jean’s mom just emerged late… like me? It would explain how she avoided the corruption. And their gem does look pretty quartz-like.”

“Sounds like a more sound theory than I could ever come up with,” Mr. Universe pipes up all of a sudden with a broad shrug.

“In any case, all our broad theorizations can wait,” Garnet waves them all off. Inhaling deep, her gaze levels straight on them. “I know you came here with a purpose,” she says.

A blunt observation, not a question.

Jean shuffles upon their feet, feeling as exposed as a budding nerve under the sheer magnitude of their scrutiny. The half of them that’s merely a tangled ball of anxiety masquerading as a person craves nothing more than to spin on their heels and bolt away— too scared of potential rejection, too scared of all the unknowns bleeding through at the very edges of their future’s canvas— but then… this is what they drove hundreds of miles for, yes? Plus, they don’t want to disappoint Dad— he knows how much they’ve dreamed of this moment, and they’re sure it’d break his heart if they backed down right at the cusp of achieving said dream.

It’s now or never.

Deep breath. Hold your spine straight. Brave heart, Jean.

What do you really want?

“I… heard about your school,” they begin, weathering that treacherous unknown to make direct eye contact with each and every one of them in turn. “And I know the technical purpose of it is to teach Gems about humanity, but… I was wondering if maybe… you’d also be willing to teach a half-human how to be a Gem.”

“Hmm,” Pearl hums, leaning back against the counter at Garnet’s side. “Well, I suppose we already have a sort of human exchange program at Little Homeschool. Anyone who’s curious about the work we do there is allowed to spend a day on campus and attend whatever classes they wish, provided they give our students a quick informal lecture on a topic that interests them. Perhaps we could discuss developing a program like this that’s more long-term in nature, and customized to your needs as a half-Gem.”

Their mind reels in giddy circles at the very notion. Them? An official student of Little Homeschool?? It’s an alluring prospect, to be sure.

“Hey, y’all?” Amethyst cuts in before they can move to respond, upper lip curling into a half-grimace. “Not to like, totally derail, but I just checked the time and we’re gonna be late for the fusion seminar if we don’t start heading on back now.”

The tall, ivory Gem winces. “Oh stars, you’re right.” Then, glancing across the living space towards Mr. Universe with a somewhat apologetic expression: “Sorry, Greg— you caught us at a bit of a busy time. Do you mind entertaining our guest a little while longer as we finish up today’s classes?”

“Why don’t you just take them with you?” he suggests. “Seems they’re interested in what goes on there anyways.”

“Bismuth or Peridot may have time to give a tour,” Garnet voices, breaking her little understood silence. (Oh, a penny for her thoughts right now…)

Jean beams at the idea, a joyous little burst of energy soaring through their system upon realizing they’re one step closer to realizing that shining desire they set their eyes on the day the ocean’s disappearance kickstarted their research into their Gem heritage in the first place— to actually nurture and embrace this part of themself. “I’d love a chance to look around, if it’s not too much trouble.”

The three Crystal Gems ultimately approve, beckoning for them to join them on the warp pad. It takes every single scrap of self restraint within their soul to not do the cringiest little happy jig as they scuttle across the floorboards and step up onto the crystalline platform. Getting to experience a trip on one of these suckers is honestly a dream come true all on its own. They’ve seen one in person before— back during their forum-surfing research days, they managed to convince Dad to drive them all the way out to a lone warp pad a local enthusiast posted the coordinates of— but couldn’t manage to activate it on their own. Now, though? With the possibility of joining Little Homeschool officially on the table, there’s no telling what they may one day learn to achieve.

Jean waves farewell to Mr. Universe as the warp activates, whisking the four of them away. It was super kind of him to take time out of his morning routine to help them contact the Gems— they’ll have to think of some meaningful gesture to thank him with later.

Pushing themself out of their comfort zone just to reach this point proved to be a bit of a challenge, but beyond the thorny confines of all their social anxieties, their future suddenly feels very bright.

#su #su future #(as in... it's Post that)#greg universe #garnet #amethyst #pearl #jean maverick #ocs #su fanfic #su oc #echoes of chalcedony #my writing stuff

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skylermadness · 11 months

Text

Crystalline Conversion (Vandham TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: July 29, 2022)

Original Description:

Another story written based on a suggestion from my friend Nat! With today being the official release day of Xenoblade Chronicles 3, I wanted to write something to celebrate such an occasion. Especially in part because the Xenoblade series has been a favorite game series of mine for a little over half a year now. Picking a character to write TF for also wasn't that difficult. Vandham is probably my favorite character out of the entirety of the three games I have played so far (1, 2, and X), and that coupled with how much I liked this idea made writing a Vandham TF inevitable. Plus I feel like having the first written work of him have an intense, heavily descriptive story feels worthwhile for a guy like him. He's just a lovely character overall and I wish we could have gotten more of him. Cheers to Xenoblade Chronicles 3, and here's hoping Guernica has a better fate! This story is rated Mature for heavy mentions of a bulge.

Inventory duty has never been Maurice's expertise, which is a little weird since he's owned this store for literal months now. But having to deal with making sure everything is still in place, which is hard when your store has no organization system. Coupled with the fact this store replaces the objects he sells almost instantly makes trying to handle this specific duty rather lengthy. Then there's adding in that he has zero idea where most of this comes from, usually having left that part of the job to the store's co-owner, it all gives him a feeling of literally knowing nothing about what he's managing.

Nonetheless, it's still a part of his job, meaning he has to take time out of his week to assess store stock.

The hirsute bear of a man walks out from in between two shelf rows, cracking his back as he grumbles about the annoyance of looking around the lower shelves. He then pulls up his notebook and a pen, proceeding to slowly check off various names (many of which already had checks beside them) while listing things off to himself.

"A'ready tied scarf, Delbin; Police badge, the'ret'cally Chief Bogo; Small du'l swords, unknown owner, should probbly have Two check that out…"

He continues to stand there muttering to himself while verifying object placement and registration. It was all the same as last week, and the week before, and the week before… With his last sale only occurring a small while ago (a month, not like he starts counting days now), this part of the job is just slowly getting more monotonous. Perhaps he should consider rebranding to a cosplay shop-

Still talking to himself and writing, Maurice starts to walk between another row of shelves. He takes a couple uncaring steps forward, his focus not really on where he was going and what his feet were touching. However his focus is quickly broken once he feels his boot collide with something, followed by the sound of said something rolling across the floor. Lifting his head from the notebook, a brow raised in question, he closed the object and stared down at the ground.

"The hell 's this…"

It wasn't hard to find what his foot collided with. Mainly due to the dim, lifeless grey color of the item being a lot different than the deep brown of the wooden floors. But the item itself was a rather peculiar looking one…

Maurice stepped over to it and bent down to pick it up. It was obviously a rock or crystal of some kind, and a rather large one since it was the size of his hand. It was cleanly cut too since it was almost entirely smooth save for a few crevices, but those were obviously in there for design. The way it was cut was also fairly complex for something it's size; twelve facets, four pentagonal-shaped ones coming to an upward vertex with four also coming to a downward vertex. The sides didn't come to pointed vertices, those being replaced with diamond-shaped facets instead.

His gaze wandered around the shelves, the shopkeeper wondering if this had fallen off either of them. But all the shelves seemed to be filled with the usual objects. He then momentarily disregarded the crystal and placed it on the edge of one of the shelf rows. He moved his focus back to his notebook as he started to run through it again, quicker this time as he was looking for if the object was logged.

"Row four, row four, row four…" he was whispering to himself in an almost panicked state. "Ah! Row four, now les see here…"

His eyes scanned the list of assorted objects, trying to find any mention of 'strange crystal' anywhere, but it was quickly turning out to be fruitless as this row seemed to lack any objects such as that. Not unless he missed it in previous inventories, but that seemed… like a slim possibility actually. But that's beside the point.

Closing the notebook, sighing in disappointment as he does so, he picks up the crystal again and stares at it curiously. Turning it around in his hand, feeling out the facets and poking the points. "Pecular bugger, ain't'cha…"

It didn't even respond to that, which… interested him, to say the least.

Owning a magic object store tends to come with learning many things. For Maurice, one of these things was magic detection and object call/response. A lot of times objects would respond to comments towards them by dimly glowing, or sparkling or something. This doesn't always occur though, as Maurice has recently found less savory and more accursed and vile objects (objects that shouldn't be sold typically) tend not to respond.

But then comes detecting magic. Having been working here for some time, Maurice is usually able to tell the magical aura of something just by staring at it. Wizard intuitions and stuff. And everything in this store has a magic aura.

Everything but the crystal he was holding.

He continues to gawk at the lifeless object, trying to determine if his growing concerns were correct. "C'mon ya' weird thing, glow 'r somethin'."

But all the rock did was stay dark.

"Mmmm, maybe this shop can summ'n dead 'r useless objecs."

He was half expecting the crystal to react to being called useless, but it didn't. He didn't really want to think of it as useless, but considering the way it was (or well, wasn't) functioning, it was far from something he was able to feel comfortable selling.

Lowering the hand holding the crystal, he had to think of something to do. On one hand, potent magic could activate it, but he has no idea what this is or what that would do. That was the same reason he couldn't stick it in the so-called Shame Closet with all the vile relics either. He could maybe brew something up that'd completely disintegrate the thing…

…Or he could just throw it out.

There was some risk to it, but his reasoning hinged on the fact that this thing had no magic within it whatsoever. Even something dormant contains trace magic. So it would be a pretty fine resolution.

Leaving the shelves and heading to the front of his store, he disregards his notebook on the counter and heads outside, crystal still in hand.

The outside proves itself to be cold the moment he steps out, not really being the weather to just be wearing a polo shirt and ripped jeans. Nonetheless, he heads to the alleyway that parts the end of his store with that of another.

Besides a few stray puddles, the alleyway was a pretty clean one. Likely because the small family-owned restaurant that neighbored him didn't want rats or something. Although it seemed the dumpster that laid beside the wall of said restaurant was left open. A perfect opportunity to chuck the crystal in it and forget about this!

A silly thought did cross Maurice's mind though. Lifting his arm up and pulling it back, he had decided he would just throw it in there!

"God, what'm I thinkin'..."

Well, he's already committed to it.

"Grruhh-!" He growls out as he hurls the object.

It ends up hitting the side of the dumpster, pretty loudly, and clattering on the ground. And Maurice could've sworn he heard a cat run further into the alley at the sound of the incident.

"Aw heck. Nev'r been the mos' athletic," he says, slightly dejected. He shrugs it off though, deciding to leave the crystal on the ground and walk back to the store.

What's the worst that could happen with an impotent object like that anyway?

----------------------------------------------------------

Even with a hoodie on, Nat found it to be pretty cold out here. The occasional gusts of wind did not help with that whatsoever.

He was hoping taking a detour through the city's shopping district was going to end up shortening his walk home. It was somewhat working, but it was still somewhat tiresome since the block he was on still happened to be the largest block of the entire district. It did come with being mildly quiet though, not many people being around and all.

He was roughly halfway down the block when his olfactory senses were assaulted by the smell of food, definitely thanks to the restaurant he was passing by. It was definitely doing its job at making him start feeling a little hungry, but not enough to really stop his walk home.

But once he passed by the restaurant, he found himself stopping. He had noticed a lengthy alleyway, but judging by what the other side looked like it looked to be a good place to try and cut his time through the block. Plus, thanks to the buildings in the way, he won't have to worry about the worsening cold that the wind doles out.

Nat sauntered into the alley, relieved that it was less cold than the outer block seemed to be. The smell here was a little worse for wear though, likely due to the open dumpster that he was beginning to approach. He attempted to step aside from it, but his foot ended up snagging onto something that was just barely wedged beneath the dumpster.

"SHIT-" was all he could yell out in reaction as he tripped over the object and fell onto the ground.

Hands already sore from preventing him from face planting, he groaned as he steadily got up. While relieved that he didn't fall into the dangerously close puddle that was just a few centimeters from where he was, he was also curious as to what his foot caught onto.

Curiosity turned to surprise once he turned around and looked at what was beneath the corner of the dumpster.

Well, beneath isn't correct. It was too large to fit under it, but it was close enough to the dumpster that it could be a hazard. But what was most interesting about it was… everything, actually.

Picking it up, Nat found that whatever this object was seemed to be a rock. Blackish grey in color, fairly large in his hand, extremely well cut, and being almost smooth on all facets. In all honesty it looked more like an extremely expensive gemstone, considering its size and cut.

"Woah, you're pretty cool looking…"

While not sure what type of rock it was, it definitely looked to be a pretty neat object. He did wonder why it was so close to a dumpster, and if someone was just trying to throw it away, but why would anyone want to discard such a nice (and again, expensive looking) crystal like this?

A thought then crossed his mind. "This would look great in my rock collection."

Perhaps its size and look would be a little out of place, but it was hard to deny how awesome the prospect of having this thing in his collection would be.

He attempted to shove it into the pocket of his hoodie, having some trouble fitting the rather large thing in there, but he was able to force it in there after a few seconds. It's rather large size was kind of proven by the fact that one of the facets' shapes could be seen pushing into the pocket's fabric. Plus there was the new weight added thanks to it, but it wasn't all that heavy.

Satisfied, Nat starts his walk back up again; excited to add this crystal to his collection once he gets home.

----------------------------------------------------------

Click!

Light switch flicking on, the living room brightens as Nat fully enters it. He lets out a long, calm exhale, glad to finally be home. He takes a moment to consider what he wants to make for dinner, but his mind quickly segways once he remembers the rock he found. He was rather curious at how it'd compare to the rest of his collection.

With his collection being in his bedroom, Nat forgos going to the kitchen and decides to head upstairs to his bedroom.

Once there, he pulled the box containing his rock collection off from the one shelf he had in the room and placed the box down on his bed. Opening it revealed a menagerie of stones of assorted sizes, types, colorations, all collected over the course of multiple years.

But as he starts to look down at his hoodie, he sees that something is… glowing in there. Well, not just something. It was obviously the rock…

"What…?"

He plunges his hand into his pocket and grasps onto the rock, the cold glassy stone now feeling warm to the touch. It takes another few moments to wrestle the thing out of the pocket, but once he does he starts to inspect it.

The crystal is now a soft blue color, glowing warmly while releasing a soft humming noise.

He decided to cup it with both hands in order to hold it easier, continuously staring down at it in a worried curiosity.

"What kind of rock are you…" he whispers.

As if it were reacting to his question the crystal releases two flashes of light while starting to hover for just a second, which ends up startling Nat into dropping it.

"What the hell-"

Interrupted, the crystal tumbles to the ground and Nat takes a few steps back while blinking his eyes, having been momentarily blinded by the mysterious object. Once he was able to see again, he readjusted his glasses and looked down at the crystal in worry.

Everything was getting increasingly complicated to grasp- "Did… did it just…"

He wasn't able to finish his sentence, being cut off by another blast of intense, shining light that was practically spilling out of the crystal itself. Nat was quickly enveloped by the light, warmth filling his body momentarily as he started to feel something within him alter- like there was something more to this warmth than he was aware of.

"Wh-what…"

He barely had time to properly react, the man starting to feel an intense pressure wrack his entire body, with his back being the area experiencing the most of it.

"NNNGHRH-"

Breathing intensifying, he could feel his entire form begin to pulsate. The pressure that had rapidly built up within it squeezed at his bones, practically tugging at them as his body was being forced to lengthen and grow taller. His spine was quick to decompress, his legs working alongside it as they stretched out more. His arms were getting longer too to fit the new proportions.

Despite all of this he was only gaining a few inches of height, going from 5’7 to 6 feet in seconds. This merely resulted in his hoodie becoming a size smaller with the bottom reaching his waist while the sleeves revealed some wrist. Beneath it, his t-shirt began to show just a hint of stomach. The same applied to his pants, the legs inching a little further from his ankles as his changes steadily built up within him.

All while his body lengthened, it was at the same time beginning to gain bulk. Intense heat coursed throughout his entire form, a feeling almost akin to a heavy workout settling in his muscles. At the same time came an odd bubbling sensation in his torso and gut, which was steadily shifting into bloating.

"Hhhhoh… what's… happening…" he spoke out in between breaths. His breathing was quickening, and he could feel his heart beating up against his already pulsing chest. It was hard to focus on everything though, everything was constantly burning in him and it was overwhelming.

Muscles continuously ached; pulsating, enlarging, and slowly filling out his t-shirt while at the same time starting to make its way to tightening the man's hoodie.

The muscle growth was more exemplified in his arms. Pulsations we're coursing through the limbs, his hands constantly shifting size but always ending up larger than they once were. They constantly were packing on more meat, a heavy thickness filling them out while causing his fingers to enlarge and lengthen into thick sausages in comparison to what they were before. Then there were his palms, slowly hardening with a callous as each hand continued to stretch.

Happening concurrently was the changes in his arms. He was still in a constant sensation of burning. His arms begin to bulge, clear definition settling within them. The hoodie rode above his wrists slightly as his forearms were increasing with mass. It went upwards more with each passing minute of enlargement, riding onwards more and more, revealing his thickening lower arms. As it started to reach his elbow, the sleeves steadily and cleanly filled out, in due because his previously non-existent biceps were beginning to swell. Triceps were increased too, defining his arm even further.

Nat could only get a glimpse of his hand for a moment before another blast of light, pale blue this time, assaulted him. A sudden spasm coursed through his nerves as a result.

"GRRRAAGH-"

He clenched both hands into fists, his arm muscles tightening as his entire body underwent another rapid pulsation. His height increased yet again, forcing his shirt to rise further up his body making the top end of his jeans and his belt visible. Everything else was effectively following the same pattern too; sleeves going further up his forearms, pants getting high enough to reveal a small portion of the crus of the leg, and the t-shirt he wore rising to show a bit more of his gut.

His arms continued to bulk causing the tightness of his hoodie to increase more. Muscles constantly pulsated, his muscle mass getting more defined with each pulse. Noticeably ridges forming within the skin, a more visible sign of his newfound strength. The sleeves of his hoodie only got tighter as a result, moreso with his ballooning deltoids. His shoulders were following his arms, bulking out while stretching to become massive, broader.

Nat let out a deep, shuddered exhale, his legs buckling slightly as the magnitude of the changes were getting much. "Gghhoh, s…so… hot… so heavy…"

His breathing deepens more as his neck enters the beginning phases of its own internal changes, the diameter of it increasing more and slowly reaching the edges of the necks of his clothing. His voice was also beginning to crack, with hints of it already starting to grow deeper.

His deeper breathing was fuelling the bloating within his chest and abdomen with, at first, subtle changes. His chest started barreling outwards, his torso beginning to broaden, small cleavage forming as his pectorals first started to grow. His midsection quivers, a churning in his stomach commencing as the area begins to get slightly pudgy. This then progresses further, gradually swelling more each moment. And with each breath he took, everything slowly advanced. Everything rippling and churning, his pecs and gut on their way to becoming bulkier and heavier, less subtle. It all just made his hoodie even more discomforting to wear.

"Tight… aaaahhh…" was all he could say. He slowly lifted a large, heavy hand up to the zipper. His bulging deltoids made moving his shoulder around a hassle, the sleeves of his t-shirt already filling in while the sleeves of his hoodie were constricting movement. The next issue came with the size ratio between his meaty fingers and the small zipper, making catching it in between two fingers a problem. But once he was able to grasp it, he attempted to pull it down.

Unfortunately, trying to unzip his hoodie was a strenuous experience. He could only get it down roughly an inch and a half before it started having trouble, the metallic object being stopped by his increasingly large pectorals. His torso was still within its phase of growth with his pecs becoming thick slabs of muscle. He could swear an indentation of the cleavage was already subtly forming in the gray fabric of his hoodie, but he was more focused on getting the zipper down.

"C-come down!"

By some Architectural grace, the zipper did as he commanded and got beyond the cleavage. It was also beginning to slide down itself, his hulking torso forcing the zipper down further. For a moment it looked like it was going to get caught in his swelling belly, but it managed to reach the halfway point and got pushed down the rest of the way by his stomach.

He momentarily stopped as he saw what was going on with his abdomen. While he could feel the same strength and muscle beneath it, it was obviously shrouded beneath a developing gut. Fat was accumulating quickly in his belly, churning and bubbling around it forcing it to balloon and push the t-shirt he was wearing further upwards.

All of this forced the slider to escape the bottom stop, the two halves of his hoodie now drifting to his sides. He knew he had to take action fast if he wanted this thing off before it ripped.

Moving around was a laborious and slightly painful task for Nat. He attempted to shift his arms around, constantly taking steps in order to find a good spot in his room to stretch everything. He was constantly worried he'd end up ripping the thing, fighting against the fabric to pull his hands through. It took almost half a minute of wrestling around with the arm before he could successfully pull his hand into the hole and slide it out the sleeve.

Everything was getting hotter though. Hotter and heavier and harder and- "Uurgh, fuck-"

Breathing quickened more, beads of sweat materializing on his forehead. His hands weakened momentarily, just, everything was getting harder to handle. But he forced himself to go forward, and while clutching onto the other sleeve he was able to pull the other arm out a little more easily. Once that was over he heaved the hoodie onto the ground before being blinded by another flash of light from the crystal and forced to feel another overwhelming feeling.

"GGHHHRRAAHHHAH-"

This feeling was still intense, still hot, but now it felt… different. It felt like a sense of power surging through him.

Another set of inches piled onto him as he went through yet another growth spurt, the bones in his back and legs (along with the rest of his body) lengthening for a third time since this all began. His chest packed on more bulk, swelling cleanly into his t-shirt as the hem of it rose up his belly. The cleavage of his pectorals started to faintly etch into the orange cotton, meanwhile his delts enlarged to fill out the shoulders.

His belt was the next major thing to grow constricting, now under the pressure of his widening waist and constantly shifting girth. The belt tried it's best to hold everything in, his jeans doing the same as the zipper slowly was getting pushed down by an increasing mass within. The same could be applied to the rear of the pants, steadily filling out as each second passed.

Having already gained several inches, Nat now roughly around 6ft 4, his pants had started becoming too short for him. His legs soon begin trembling as bulk starts to fill them out. Thighs steadily swelling, the muscles in them hardening and widening them out. His calves were bulking up as well, thick, heavy, pushing his jeans up even more than they were now. The denim soon started digging into his skin as his muscles were thick enough to further etch themselves into the legwear. Bulging, rippling throughout them, slowly but surely becoming visible from beneath them.

A surge of energy hits his feet, forcing yet another wave of changes. His feet slowly began to stretch, toes curling as both feet grew a size larger, then another. His shoes were a bit cramped now, and his feet were still growing bigger and thicker. The toe caps were beginning to bulge with the indents of his toes while the rest of the footwear was looking like it was swollen. The straps that held them closed were undoing themselves under the force of his feet, slowly but surely losing the ability to contain them.

Another strap on each shoe snapped as Nat took another few disorientated steps backwards, bumping into a dresser and knocking over a few things on top of it. Sweat crept down his face and arms, heat still coursing through his muscles as he was still getting an instant workout. His shirt was still getting tighter by the second, he could even feel some air hit his shoulders as a few rips started forming in the sleeves. The neck continued to constrain, the hem continued to ride up his belly. It was getting hard to think. His mind was muddling, either under the heat or the confusion of it all.

"Aaa… aaaahhh- f-fuckin'... ain't feelin' to well…"

He swallowed a forming lump in his throat. Was his voice different? It seemed deeper and accented but he… he can't seem to tell anything anymore.

"Sso hot…"

He raised an arm to his forehead and wiped off some sweat. "I… I nneed to…" His eyes closed for a moment as he tried to come up with what he wanted to say. Everything was confusing, muddled, he wasn’t quite sure what was going on. There was an odd feeling of something… pressing, in his mind?

“Can’t… think straight…”

His voice was cracking some more. Although it seemed to be for a while, but then again it’s getting hard to remember that stuff. And did it sound… foreign? And if so, which parts? A lingering sense, a feeling of unfamiliarity with himself was settling in Nat, but his mind holds for just a bit longer.

Nat started to stumble around the room, steps heavy and shaky, towards the bed. His shoes continued to constrain, feet uncomfortable with each step forward. His pants strained against his legs, both limbs progressing in their own muscle gain. Walking itself was even strenuous, everything hot, tiresome, heavy and aching.

His belt was unable to take the weight anymore and the buckle cleanly snapped, the rest of the leather staining before scuffing and tearing. A heat was filling his groin, the region working its way in swelling itself. The zipper of his jeans were already pulled down, button struggling to hold it together, but the growth in size forced it to break. The groin region was bulging in size, slowly falling out his pants as his briefs attempted to hold his meaty package together.

The back of his pants were undergoing a similar challenge. A fatal attempt to hold in his thickening glutes while his legs moved. They were already filled out, but a growing crevice was getting visible with each step. His butt was expanding and pushing out the seat of the jean's further, forcing them tighter. Even with pressure alleviated around the waist thanks to the open zipper, wearing these pants wasn't going to last long. This became clear once the seat of his pants couldn't handle containing his ass anymore and started to split open, revealing more of his underwear.

The seams holding the denim together began splitting; a mixture of weight, leg movement, and sheer leg size finally pushing past their limitations. His thighs widened, quads and hamstrings bulging out in opposite directions and tearing his legwear apart at the sides. His knees were growing increasingly visible, holes emerging on that area of his jeans with each step. His calves forced the legs upwards more as muscle mass spilled out of them too. His legs were easily becoming the same muscularity as his arms: thick, heavy, massive, powerful.

Heat was still burning in them as they continued to swell and stretch, pulling apart his pants furthermore. Portions of them were already beyond what they got handle and were torn from the rest of the legwear, material now sloughing off his legs and showing more skin. The growing in his rear split the seat even more, aided by his wide hips to force the midline of the jeans to fully split apart and causing his bulge to descend slightly as a result. Eventually the muscle changes would halt, but what fragments of denim remained would cascade off his skin, slowly flowing down softly onto the ground. This revealed his legs to be wide, meaty, and muscular. With all the additional shifts and changes undergone, he'd also be settling at 6ft 8.

His shoes were next, unable to hold any longer as his blunt, thick toes pushed out of the toe cap of the cloth. The straps that once held the shoes closed were all undone. The bridge of his foot pushed through the tongue of the shoe and shredded the top apart. Ankles bulged out, the overall size of his feet finally decimating his footwear. And while chunks of cloth drifted off his feet, all that was left intact were the soles, left behind in two simple steps. Air hit his feet, both massive with thick toes, wide soles, and an overall huge and chunky look.

The hem of his t-shirt was over his belly at this point, stretched over his torso and filled to the brim with raw muscle. His thick tree trunk of a neck was pushing out the neck, a fissure slowly forming down the midline as a result of the strenuous task of holding everything in. Cleanly split holes were also budding across the fabric; more of his rippling pecs, massive delts, and broad back growing evermore visible by the second. The fabric stretches so thin over his massive arms, his bulging biceps, that it starts to tear and gradually succumb to the thickly-muscled limbs, steadily bursting up the shoulders. Soon, his shirt was expanded beyond what even itself could contain. Rips and gaps meshing together, more and more skin becoming visible, lines of fabric and string finally breaking against his hard muscles. Soon, bits of orange fabric fell off his body and onto the ground as well.

Spilling out of it all was his body. A large, massive gut that possessed strength behind its fat. Slabs for pectorals, meaty and somewhat soft looking. Huge hands with thick sausages for fingers, connected to muscular arms that clearly show off a lot of strength.

An X-shaped scar started to emerge between his eyes, the scar slowly making its way across his face as his mind hazes even further. The pressure in his mind continues to grow, like a feeling of something overpowering him mentally.

“Grrugh, c…can’t think straight-”

A pressure ached around his face as a new set of shifts rippled across it. His skull steadily growing in size; jawline crackling, sculpting out into something smooth and chiseled at first. His chin then bulges as it descends a little more with a crease fading into it. His skull structure starts to make its way into a blocky, rectangular shape; the softer features it once had smoothing out into a more rugged, mature look. Protrusions start to poke out the diagonals of his face; hard, rocky, pointed scales emerging from those areas.

His eyes shut again as he tries to fight whatever is in his head, attempts to resist whatever is going on and tries to collect himself. “This… feeling… bloody ‘ell-”

The scar grows larger as his face does. The tip of his nose blunts, the bridge of it widening while the nostrils flare larger. His ears begin to poke out the sides of his head a little more as their own tips elongate to a point, the soft cartilage stretching out and thinning while the insides grow slightly deeper as the result of their new shape. These changes result in his glasses hitching onto his face, frames unable to simply fall off as they are now locked into its widening form.

Foreign thoughts cascaded through Nat’s brain, things getting harder to focus on. Resisting growing more laborious. “N-No, I… m… must be hungover or somethin’-”

More changes wrack his face in its constant growth. Eyebrows getting thicker, hairs on them becoming a stony grey. The scales start to bubble up and down the sides of his face hardening then. His eyes get slightly smaller, a grayish-brown settling into the deep green of his irises while his vision steadily improves. It doesn't take long until the glasses he's wearing breaks apart, temples breaking apart at the hinge as the rim falls onto the ground.

Eyesight woozes a little, momentarily shifting from blurry to improving for a few seconds. “W-what is… fuck, must’ve had to much to drink at Vargel’s… makin’ my eyesight all weird-”

Impossibility was settling into him, the feeling of being ‘Nat’ more fleeting as a new entity took over. Everything foreign, everything faint. Conflicting thoughts and emotions beginning to arise.

The nape of his neck tickles slightly as his hair starts to steadily lengthen. Follicles getting longer, the brown coloration of them fading away into silver as each second passed. An odd mix of styles start to formulate on his scalp as his hair continues to grow. The top frontmost portions arise and comb themselves, messy hairs melding into a neat formation as they continue to extend. A thick, pomp-like style is what develops in that area; tall, rounded, dense, and clean.

Yellows and blues etch into the follicles of his sides, the remainder of the hair to the sides and back of his head slowly cascading downwards. Unlike the hair to his top, the hair to his back was messier. Although it maintained the same luscious thickness, ends were sticking out and curling upward, an unkempt mane of hair trickling down his neck and onto his back. Despite this, it looked nice, full, and somewhat fluffy.

Confused stumbling continued, him completely unaware that the crystal was rapidly pulsating again. Another flash of light spilled through the room, and the moment his peripherals caught onto it his head began to ache. Hands trembled as he pulled them to the sides of his head, gripping onto them as his mind truly started to twist in confusion.

His neck throbs, the inner workings of it finally beginning to solidify his constant vocal changes. The vocal cords shift; growing, strengthening, widening, all to cement a new voice as his own. Previously, all it's been doing is cracking his voice, deepening it, giving him a slight accent, conflicting between his own and a different one. But now…

"I… ahhh… c-can't… walk very… Uurgh…"

With a final crack, his voice hardens. Deep, gruff, and containing a very noticeable accent; Urayan of course (what was he thinking, it's… Aus… huh)... But that couldn't be his voice, could it?

"Should've gotten another… one of the mates- could've helped with… uugh, Architect-"

He squeezes his head harder, a headache now bulging in his forehead.

"Bloody- this ain't… grrrruhh…"

A crisis of identity starts to truly bud within his mind. His own name was growing foreign to him as he was having trouble determining who he was. The past few minutes became a blur, come to think of it everything was a blur. He was having trouble recalling memories of his own, rather remembering foreign memories that… that he could've sworn were not his own.

Vague recollections of pounding down one or two drinks at the tavern in Garfront (how does he know that name, and… he's never drunk alcohol, has he?)

Congratulating some of the other mercs on a job well done- especially since this was a rather big one! (mercenary work? No- that… can't…)

"Didn't think I… had that much to drink, gotta train some rookies today after all…"

A small thought questioning why he'd be training anyone crossed his mind, but at this point whatever was left of Nat is fading fast. More muddled memories of a long life settling into his mind, much of it even he didn't care to remember, especially that name- there's a reason he's gone with Vandham nowadays.

…Vandham…

"Can't… can't believe I got so drunk I… couldn't recall my name!"

That thought made him laugh a little, the haze slowly but surely subsiding. It did have some stuff to leave behind, replacing previous skills with new ones. He could recall how to wield quite a few weapons like the back of his hand! He's usually had a preference for the larger ones though-

There were also a couple fleeting thoughts. Some smaller stuff that had to be done himself that he should probably get to once he sobered up- mostly awkward paperwork regarding payments and other job requests. Not the most exciting parts, but it helped keep the mercs afloat.

"Gotta get yourself together, mate…"

A trail of destroyed articles of clothing was left in the man's wake, and all of his stumbling around brought him next to his bed. Still dazed and confused (and believing himself to be hungover), he took a seat upon it to rest. Unfortunately, the bed was instantly proving unable to hold his weight and a sudden cacophony of creaks and snaps rang through the bedroom. There was a sudden drop of a few inches shortly after, his belly and bulge jiggling slightly as that happened.

Massaging a side of his head, Vandham lets out a small laugh at that. "Heh, I'm… guessing this thing can't support a big mate like myself's weight, huh?"

The pain was already starting to die down, although heat was still coursing through his body a little. Sweat continued to edge its way down his body. There was even a slight throbbing sensation in his crotch area, likely a reaction to his undersized briefs he was wearing at the moment…

"Don' quite remember puttin' these on-"

Come to think of it, he was starting to realize he can't exactly remember where he was right now either.

He shifted around the mattress a little, a slight itching sensation now entering some of his body. A result of scars starting to etch their way onto it. Down his left pec, across the side of his upper left arm, a slash across his back, a cut on his neck. Old scars multiplying across his body, all signs of a new life engraving in him.

He flinched for a moment as another flash of light entered his vision, although now it was oddly familiar. "What the hel-"

He was cut off, his breath suddenly hitching momentarily as he felt a slight discomfort in his abdomen. Sizeable scar tissue formed; a large pool of collagen spilling across the midsection of his gut. It was deeper in coloration than the other scars, an indicator of it being recent, with a slight area started bubbling in the middle of the tissue.

The light shone brighter as a reaction to this, the crystal beginning to float above the ground. Light was spilling everywhere, flowing from the blue stone and enveloping everything. Blinding white only intensified, Vandham closing his eyes as that light encompassed the entire room and enveloped his form.

Then it all stopped…

Opening his eyes, he found the light was gone and the source… disappeared?

There was still a minor discomfort in his gut however. Vandham looked down at it to find a shard of a Core Crystal embedded in his abdomen, a large contracture scar stretching from where it was placed.

"Still tryin' to get used to ya; huh, mate?"

All the crystal did was pulsate. But then again, it always did that.

His eyes then caught onto a pair of glasses that were laying on the ground. Or well, fragmented remains.

"Huh," he leaned down, bed creaking some more, and reached a hand down to pick it up. He was a little bemused by the fact that the rim looked so small compared to the fingers that pinched it.

Holding it up to eye level, he raised a brow in curiosity. "Where'd these come from…"

Inspecting the glasses put his mind in a slight moment of questioning, trying to rationalize who they were (momentarily fighting himself thinking they were his despite their size). It was enough to distract him from what was occurring on the ground.

Small motes of light slowly arose from the shreds of clothing that were on the floor. The edges of each shred started to glow as something began settling amongst them all.

The remaining sole of the shoes curled into itself amongst the light, the tip rising while the division between the heel and the rest of the sole grew. The bits and pieces of cloth that once composed of the shoe then floated off the ground, slowly making their way towards the soles as they themselves underwent a menagerie of shifts.

What would end up being the top cap and upper heel merged back together, the cap itself curling upwards as well while the front sharpened to a point. The former tongue of the shoe enlarged, becoming less of a tongue and more of a covering of some sort. The same applied to various other aspects; the pull tab, the arch bandages, the padding, strap guard, all of them were meshing and melding into various layers of some kind of different footwear. The straps had even merged into two separate pseudo-belts, meanwhile another chunk of shreds enlarged and transformed into two-layered knee pads.

All of this ended up coming together into a pair of complexly made boots. Chunks of leather connecting, sewing and stitching together, a belt wrapping around the back of the heel while the knee pads were left discarded on the upwardly curved toe caps. Multiple shades of green then started to seep into what used to be plain black and white, the inner layers of these boots being darker while the outer shades were lighter. The knee pads also appeared to materialize a blue gem on the middle of each one, metal buckles hardening to the sides as the second pair of belts slink over to them.

Then came what happened to the remainder of his scraps of clothing. Denim and cotton all floating and twisting, more greens started to etch into those as well as they began to undergo similar drastic changes.

Instead of simply restitching and becoming the new forms equivalent of what they would've been, the remains all seemed to undergo their own thing. A few scraps were growing, shifting and squishing together as they became a pair of leather bracers. Another set twisted together, deepening to black and oozing outward into a pair of fingerless gloves.

Many shreds became plain and simplistic objects. Some lengthened out, metal forming on the ends as they became various sets of belts that'd go across the big man's body. There was one belt that was meant for the waist; hard denim becoming a leathery blue while oranges shifted tone to green, everything coming together into a lengthier belt with an oddly shaped buckle and shards of metal studded throughout it. Many remnants of clothing then bulked out into pouches of various sizes to adorn this new belt. And out of everything that came from the minor clothes shifts, there was a clump of remains that merged together into a large, hefty shoulder pauldron that looked to be more metallic than it was leather. Beside the pauldron bubbled an orange, rigid arm bracer.

The largest changes came with the scraps that fused into more complex objects. There came some that enlarged into rectangular metallic plates, interlocking side by side with each other until they could circle an entire body. Raising from those plates was a set of belts that would give this armor piece an odd overalls look when worn. A strip of a thin, small and blue material emerged and draped downwards from the outside of each plate.

What remained of the cotton and denim fragments floated and stitched with each other. Black was spreading across the article of clothing they were making, thick pillars of red appearing on the front of the legs and back of the legs. The new legwear was undergoing an increasingly large size change, getting bulkier and baggier for a few seconds before stopping.

Now littering the ground were multiple articles of clothing and armor, belts and pouches, two big boots and knee pads. The only thing that was off about them was the size: miniscule in comparison to the guy on the bed. Rather, they seemed to be the size of how they would fit his previous form. Small and thin, although maybe slightly larger than his body would have been.

This was quickly rectified, however, as another bout of glowing outlined the attire. Everything started to enlarge again, bigger and heavier, better equipped to handle a thicker guy. The shifts in size were quickly packing everything together, pushing everything around and moving things further than their previous locations. It was rapidly looking to become a mountain of metal and leather.

Vandham continued to eye the glasses for another few moments, thoughts still trying to grasp who exactly these were before, but was snapped out of it when he felt something press against his foot.

"Hm. Ah well, they look broken anyway." He then decides to crush them in the palm of his hand. Quick, easy, like they were nothing.

He disregards the shrapnel on the ground, then turns his head to see what was touching his foot, which was shown to be one of his boots.

Wait…

Vandham looked down at himself again. His hardened pecs, his massive gut, his rippling arms and legs. Then there was that massive bulge in his undergarments…

He scratched the side of his head. "Bloody hell am I doin' naked…"

Leaning sideways to pick up the boot, the sound of another snap echoed throughout the bedroom before his position fell downwards yet again. The front legs of the bed screeched for a moment as they pushed forward, the frame having split in half beneath his weight. The mattress remained intact, but he could hear the strain of its springs beneath his rear.

"Heh, I should probably get off this thing quick."

Trying to clothe himself was a little confusing. Partially because his mind was still having trouble between familiar and unfamiliar actions, but he easily found himself falling into the rhythm of things. Why wouldn't he, he's done this every day of his life!

The armor was always the most annoying part. Having to place it upright and step into it, then heaving it upwards by the straps before buckling everything. Moving it around to be comfortable. Then came slipping on the pauldron, strapping it onto his shoulder with a few of the belts and more shifting for comfortability.

Vandham shifted around the pile of clothing for a few moments in search of his arm bracer, but he ended up finding his pants. Big, baggy, black and red, perfect fit for him really. A part of him wished there was a pair of properly sized underwear in this pile, but the thought of seeing his bulge bobble around a bit gave a part of him a strange sense of… euphoria? Self-indulgence? …Arousal? Whatever.

Getting the pants on was easy, then he had to follow it up with the belt. Somehow his pouches also all got unfastened, and they were also surprisingly empty.

With his legwear on, he was able to locate the arm bracer along with the gloves and wrist bracers he wore. Putting those on were easy enough, leather tightly hugging his calloused wrists while more leather wrapped around his wrists. Then there were the belts that went around his wrists and arm.

The springs moaned as he took another seat on the mattress momentarily, shoving his feet into his boots and putting his knee pads over the already layered footwear and baggy pants. With some final adjustments, loosening any tight harnesses and tightening any too loose ones. His gaze was then brought to one last article of clothing on the ground.

A grey hoodie.

He got up from off the bed and walked over towards the oddly familiar object. Bending down and picking it up, he found that it was already pretty small for someone his size. And holding it out seemed to prove that by quite a bit. It looked to only be comparable to his torso and abdomen alone, and that was pushing it since it somehow seemed smaller than that.

There was a fleeting thought in his mind over the concept of wearing it. "Heheh, dunno what I'm thinking. I'm much too big to wear this!"

He crumpled the hoodie up and decided to turn it around and throw it onto the mattress. As he did so, his attention was drawn to another object. A small box that was slowly sliding down the mattress.

Curious, Vandham took a step forward and looked into the box. It appeared to be filled with assorted rocks of various shapes, sizes, and colors. But it didn't really seem to be the most interesting thing in this room, especially if it lacked any Core Crystals to find. Honestly, most of this room was growing rather disinteresting. He wasn't sure where he was or why he was here, and the nagging familiarity of the place was getting to be slightly annoying.

He started to piece together all the weirdness of the scenario. "The hell did I do last night…"

Vandham was pulled out of his thoughts by a low rumble escaping his belly. Smiling, he patted the armor over the spot (particularly where the crystal was embedded in him). "Guess you're gettin' hungry, ey mate? Definitely be good fer us to get somethin' if I drank somethin' that strong~"

The feeling of knowing this place did come in handy at least. He knew where the kitchen was, somehow. Getting there on the other hand…

This house was not built for someone of his proportions, to say the least. At least back in Garfront everything was accommodated to larger sizes (usually because Blade size can be fairly unpredictable), so residing in it was without inconvenience. Here though, the doorways were thinner than his width, and the first attempt to try and exit what he assumed to be the bedroom was more than slightly annoying. Trying to make himself as small as possible in order to fit past a door frame was not a fun experience, especially since his armor still made him seem a little thicker laterally. Having that press up against your body (especially when you're still getting used to a Crystal embedded in you) is uncomfortable, to say the least.

"With how much work this is already getting to be I'm hoping this place has some good Armu T-Bone Steak."

Escaping that eventually led to a small walkway that he could just barely fit through. The top of his hair also seemed to graze the ceiling. There was also the fact that his steps made the floorboards of these creak sometimes.

Going down the stairs was another uneasy trek. Railing forcing him to go sideways, feet too large to really fully fit on a step. The steps creaking rather loudly beneath his feet also did not make matters any better. Not even Uraya's cliffsides made him feel this uneasy. Luckily, he was able to get down fairly unscathed; save for that final step that seemed to just break as he got off.

With one final right turn he reached the doorway of what his mind told him was the kitchen. Getting through the doorway was just as much of a hassle as the last time, but it wasn't as hard since he knew how to handle this now… mostly.

Just as expected, everything in the kitchen was small in comparison to him, but really his focus was now on the fridge. Squeezing in the space between the fridge and a table (which really just his rear bumping into the table and pushing it back some); Vandham foregone pulling the handle (knowing it to be too miniscule for his hand) and just went with pulling the door open from the side. Considering his strength, doing so was a success.

Most of the food in here seemed to be random leftovers, assorted fruits, and various other foods that needed to be kept cold; all of which was in a clean three layer system.

That was disrupted rather quickly once Vandham shoved his hand in there and started rummaging around. Rummaging meaning knocking things around, trying to pull some things out but having trouble doing so when everything is diminutive in comparison to you, and accidentally squishing one or two fruits.

"Architect, this thing is small…"

Eventually, after about half a minute of messing up the fridge, Vandham was able to find something that would be of interest to him.

It looked to be a slab of meat wrapped in foil. Likely already cooked, just needed to get it heated up. Unfortunately, it literally fits in the palm of one hand, so he didn't expect it to do too much filling.

"Likely not Armu, but this'll do. This'll do…"

#character tf #human tf #transformation #muscle growth tf #tf

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