Chapter Text
There exists, somewhere in the deep, star-studded darkness, a strange and storied place, a plane which acts as the Medium for a thousand, thousand tales. And at the center of this wonderful, mysterious place, there is a planet that is a star that is a cradle, where a Riddle waits to be answered, and a Universe waits to be born. And from this place, this place of limitless potential, flows limitless power, power in all its varied, magnificent forms. Thousands of forms. Thousands of Titles. Thousands of Aspects through which the potential of this place is fragmented and split, as light scatters through a prism.
This wonderful, terrible place, which marks those it chooses with its power, can not be said to have ever made a mistake. This wonderful, terrible place, the mechanism by which Universes are birthed, was not created with the ability to make mistakes. It does not understand the concept. What omnipotent hand would create such a machine that could not complete its purpose? What omnipotent word would form such a riddle that could not be answered? This, you believe, without doubt, despite all that has occurred to you.
You have been challenged on many, many things, in the short span of your life. Your mind, sometimes, feels as fragile as porcelain, for it seems that the moment you begin to believe that you understand something, that understanding is undermined by some new, terrible truth. Sometimes, you believe your mind is as the proverbial house built upon the sands, and the universe seems to delight in crashing waves upon your proverbial shore. But there is one thing that not even the mightiest of metaphorical tsunamis could shake. One truth you hold dear, when others would have let it fall by the wayside so long before. There is a plan. This you believe. And though the madness and chaos of this Game, between its inanities and its intricacies, would imply that there is no such thing as fate, that all is but the dashing around of desperate beings trying to put together something that cannot be fixed, you believe that even in the midst of all of this, it is meant for something. Faith. It holds you up, even now.
The cradle of potential that is Skaia chooses the power it grants to its Players with all the care of a monk drawing patterns in the sand of his garden. Every line means something. Every stone has a purpose. Separately, each seems worthless. But together, seen as a whole, it all has wondrous meaning.
This you believe.
And so, you must believe that the terrible, dreadful power that is yours, must have purpose.
You are the Waste of Flow. And, like many titles, it does not means what you would think it means. The demesne of Heart is not merely those tender qualities of love, friendship, and kindness. It is also the Aspect that deals with the Soul, in all its light and darkness. Light means more than just the imprint of photons upon the eye's lenses; it is the Aspect of Luck and Fortune, the chaos inherent to order, and the revelation of Knowledge and Truth. And it is just so, with the Aspect of Flow.
Control over Flow, is control over the powers of Skaia, in its many forms.
You are not sure why it means such. Perhaps it references the might of the roaring river, which could certainly be said to be powerful in a physical sense. Perhaps it is linked the the flow of blood through the veins, that essence that is the basis of life, in the biological sense, and could be said to be powerful in the metaphorical sense. Perhaps, to other Players of the same Aspect, it means something entirely different, something more elemental or metaphorical, and it is only you that carries this one, specific meaning. Perhaps it is an Aspect unique to you, in all the multiverse.
Perhaps it is none of these.
But this you know; there are few Players, in the vast multiverse, who can do such as you.
You are not sure why you were granted this Title. But you have faith that there is a 'why'. You believe there is a reason for the calamity that follows you, uncontrollable and undeniable. You believe there is a reason that, near you, the powers of Skaia grow in power a hundred-fold, and at the same time, rage out of the control of even the most iron-willed of Players. There must be a reason that to be near you is to become death and chaos incarnate.
To see the blackness of Rage bleed, uncontrollably, into the very air, causing the elements themselves to turn against themselves, for stone to attack the air and water to drown life. To see the rules of Space bend in every way that can be bent, to watch Euclidean geometry and the laws of thermodynamics become broken, alien, and unwatchable, as the very earth is transformed into something that blinds the mind and shatters the senses. To see the growth of Life become growth unchecked, growth unfettered by energy, entropy, or death, to see the terrors of what Life could become without limits, laws, or even the base ethics of Nature, elephantine, gargantuan, eldritch. These are the definitions of horror, and such is the sights you saw as your aura inevitably worked its control over the powers of your fellow Players.
You are fortunate, in some ways. The curse that proximity to you lays upon your fellow Players weakens and disappears if you are not present. Their control reasserts itself, when not actively affected by your aura. The world rights itself, though not unscathed. And you are fortunate that, for all of its absurdities and insanities, the Game understands that its Players are meant to die, and grants them that second chance at life. All you have to do, to fix it, is leave.
So you leave, in order to prevent any further death by your power's hands. You find an asteroid, far removed from the Lands of the Players, far removed from the Kingdoms of Derse and Prospit, far removed from Skaia, that well of limitless potential that made you what you are. You find a laboratory, there, a place full of machines and computers, vats and transporters, and a hundred strange rooms. You find a place full of computer screens, a place that lets you view the events of the Session you have removed yourself from. And you watch. You watch your Session slowly doom itself, as failure after failure and trial after trial begins stripping away the possibilities of success. You keep in touch with your Players, and find them beginning to lose all hope. They begin to believe that it is all meaningless. They begin to believe they are doomed. But you have faith; faith that somehow, your power is the key.
You have to believe that the meaning behind your power will become, in time, clear.
Others find you. Not physically, but textually; a strange group, somehow alien in subtle ways, with strange quirks of speech and stranger quirks of personality. Players of another Session, holders of their own destinies and mysteries.
They can be full of wrath, but full of some strange kindness, as well. They can be cruel, yet occasionally show a sort of passionate mercy. They can be as indescribably stupid as all teenagers can be, and all the same, they can be intelligent and wise. And they appear to be doomed to fail, just as others would say of your Session. They have reached what appears to be the end of their Story, in a parallel that cleaves so closely to your own Story, so very much like yours.
And in one, simple way, they are very much like the friends you have hidden yourself away from; they believe all is hopeless.
But that is not what you believe. You believe there is a purpose in this, a path that is to be followed. And it is here, with these strange children, that it all changes. Once, you played a game with your friends, and the world came to an end. And ever since the moment you placed that disc in your computer, you have searched for the sign that you believe is waiting for you.
You find it in the green-colored text of a strange, alien girl, who tells you a story you have become familiar with.
Their Titles are many and powerful, except, seemingly, for one. A girl, the same age as you, who appears to have been cursed by the Title she was granted. A girl, around whom all powers become simpler, easier to control, but at the same time, wither into powerless nothingness. Around her, all of Skaia's powers become worthless, weak, and frail. Calamity follows her, as powers are stripped from those who so desperately need them, and in the wake of the failure her presence causes, she is shunned by the others. She has hidden herself away, in a laboratory on an asteroid, far removed from Lands and Kingdoms and Skaia itself. She is waiting for a sign.
She is the Grace of Flow.
And now, you see the path.
You do not know how. You do not know when. But somehow, someday, you are going to bridge the Sessions, to combine the stories of Human and Troll, and it will be the two of you that will give the Players the tools they need to answer the Ultimate Riddle, and birth the Universe Skaia was always meant to create. In you, they will find Power, and in her, they will find Control, and together, your Power will be whole.
Between the two of you, the power of Skaia will continue to Flow, strong and sure, in all who follow you.
You are the Waste of Flow. Though you did not know it, you have spent your life seeking the Grace of Flow.
And now that you have, you have much to do.