"Hello..." pt 1

Thomas listened quietly as Sakura breathed deeply in sleep. The powder on his fingertips and lips quieted all sound he made, even when he turned and pushed a way through the branches of the trees surrounding the quiet glade they had made camp in. She had come along as an offer to help him; Thomas was beginning to realize that he did not want any help in this venture.


This was, perhaps, the first thing he truly needed to do alone.


The attacks on the Tower had become more insistent, and more powerful, each time. The mages had held out with their usual haughty nonchalance, dismissing any possible danger to that bastion of learning. Something in his gut told Thomas differently, however, and he knew something was coming that would shake the foundations of the Tower. So he'd studied and learned, and asked questions from the most improbable sources. Losing his eyesight in the process, he finally garnered a deeper understanding of many things: namely the act of plane-jumping. It was his own word, actually. Anyone capable of the act considered it so natural that they had very flippant names for it. The Powers tended to make a habit of the process, and Thomas had gradually come to realize the consequences of such transport. While popping between 'dimensions' was very dramatic and often brilliantly spectacular to behold, it was disturbingly similar to cutting a hole in a sheet of fabric to step through. There were ripples, yes, and the tear itself. Though, in the majority of cases, the tear was repaired with the same nonchalance as which it was made, the ripples were dismissed as inconsequential.

By following these ripples, and watching their effects, Thomas came to see that what had often passed as 'bad luck' in the surrounding areas had a much more sinister cause. The ripples actually upset the laws of causality on this plane. Milk would sour, crops would falter, weather would deteriorate. Simple things. But also, the probability of various creatures tended to increase. A vampire bite, by many breeds, offered a one-out-of-three-hundred chance of inflicting vampirism on the victim. When affected by these ripples, the probability became much closer to one out of three. It was similar with werewolves, and other creatures so rare as to be considered folklore. With so many ripples however, such creatures had become nearly as common as humans themselves.

And yet, the only way that Thomas could see to permanently protect the Tower, was to somehow blend it with another plane. To catch the very structure in the process of 'plane-jumping', and leave it there…untouchable from either side. It would be usable, but invulnerable and impregnable as it shivered between the dimensions. But the ripples that such a thing would cause…continuously…were unimaginable. The mage scoured texts and tombs for ways around this fatal flaw in his plan.

Finally, he came across an idea so obscure, he was uncertain whether it was folklore, legend, or myth. The author of a particular book made such passing mention of it, he was either unaware of its significance or wished to bypass it as quickly as possible. Rather than the idea of a 'multiverse' as so many scholars presumed, this author indicated a three-level system. A multiverse atop a multiverse atop a multiverse. But only three. Balance, perhaps, or some deeper significance, the author did not explain or go into greater detail. It was simply there, and that was that. But to cross from one level to another could not be done through the normal processes. It would be like a man attempting to hop onto a second story of a building without bringing both feet off of the ground. So what was the solution?

Months had passed. Perhaps years, in this place where time was so dynamic. And Thomas had remained cloistered in his room and his libraries. Depression had set in long before he'd begun studying, and the deepening melancholy haunted him despite his efforts to throw himself completely into this altruistic task. Even when caught unawares by visitors, the mage withdrew within himself to the point that he was almost oblivious to their presence entirely. There were few in the Tower who did not have better things to do than deal with an obsessive mage.

And yet, an answer occurred to Thomas at last. But uncertain of its effectiveness, he determined to experiment where it would not harm the Tower or those within should something go wrong. He had had terrible dreams of this spell backfiring. Horrible visions of being caught between Levels and gradually torn apart as the fabric attempted to set things aright. Sakura accompanied him, and at first he was grateful for the support.


But the melancholy did not abate simply because he had an answer. The Tower had grown silent again, even as his fears of a looming catastrophe neared. Indeed, it increased tenfold as he knew, despite the dark elf's comforting presence, he was very very alone. This night, that sense of despair finally toppled over the last barrier and melted into a suicidal abandon. Thomas' will could bend spells and cantrips into powerful effects, but he could not contend against himself. He had battled until the end and finally come out defeated by his own self-doubt and humiliated by his self-loathing. This would be his final gift to the Tower; completing this spell would prove he could protect it. And if it did not go as planned, then he would not be able to witness his failure.


The mage soon stood on the shore of the ocean, staring blindly out across waters that gently lapped at the sand and at his bare feet. It was soothing, in one sense, and horrifying in another. Here was the perfect metaphor for his almalgamation of spells and incantations: he would toss out a tiny little thread, and hope to pull the other shore to this one for but a moment.


Thomas took a deep breath, closed his dead eyes, and raised his hands to begin the spell.


Eight miles away, a farmer glanced up from the cow's udder to stare at the false dawn on the horizon. He furrowed his brow in confusion, then shrugged as the light gradually faded away.

The water rolled gently over the footprints in the sand, washing away all evidence of one man's passing.