Ivory was unsure of what specific emotion to feel at the moment. Rage? Fear, confusion, or maybe even a tad bit murderous? Who knew? They all seemed to swirl into a single blend within her awareness.
I Am had done it again; he had taken her without even the slightest bit of consent.
Previously, this was not a major problem for her, as he often brought her into the Dreaming at opportune moments. But not like this. He had taken something from her—her moment of glory. The hour that a blow was to be dealt at the church. He had taken that away from her.
She fumed within, turning her gaze sharply toward the high throne perched there above those twirling stairs. "Why did you do tha—"
"I have someone to introduce to you!" he said, his voice still holding that ever-softness.
But more important was the content of his words.
Someone? Someone else?
There was an oddity to those words. How long has it been now since this space was shared by her and I Am alone? Yet, his current words admitted a stranger. Who was it?
"Hello, princess," a voice flowed from her left side. Childish. She knew that voice; she had heard it once during an act she preferred not to recall.
It's not possible, right? she hoped, her gaze turning slowly toward the alien figure present in this solemn, grand castle.
She saw it. A her. A child with hair that cascaded over her body, petite, with a certain knowing gaze.
Ivory gasped, her heart pounding, her mind swirling data as though it were charged by the greatest force. She could not focus. She could not retrieve herself from that memory. Kabal—no, Heid, that strange armored figure, the one with the glasses. The demons that had brought such harm to her people, to her father, to Argon.
The Pained Martyr Sect!
This was them. She was a part of it.
Ivory trembled, her lips mouthing words in frantic motions. What was happening?
Her gaze shifted to the lofty I Am, still seated on that throne of his with his head encased in a ring of brilliant whiteness. He seemed uncaring about what this child represented.
Was this a sign? Was this a trap? Had he allied himself with them?
She panted. Please, no.
Ivory placed her palms over her stomach, one atop the other. "What is this?" she managed. "Who is that? Is that a member of the Pained Martyr Sect?"
"Yes," the girl said casually, shrugging. "Although I'm currently not exactly a member."
And that was the last straw. Ivory was gone, her mind drowned in a surge of fury and madness. There was only one thing now—a call to that Ivory that had stabbed Kabal. That madness that bloomed from the deepest parts of her awareness.
She called to it, and it heeded her.
"How DARE YOU!" she shouted, her voice resounding through the vast space of the hall. "HOW DARE YOU ATTACK VALOR!"
She dashed. I need a weapon, she repeated internally. I need a weapon. I need a weapon. I need a weapon.
Something round blinked into her grasp, smashing before exploding in a small, bright light. In the next moment, grasped tightly in her palm was a short, oredite blade.
Ivory fueled the madness. "HOW DARE YOU!"
She jumped into the air, fervent, her knife coming down at the face of the short little girl. She could see her reflection in the child's eyes—the shadow of a blade piercing toward the face of a girl.
What am i doing?
A gust slammed into her body, tossing and rolling her over the sleek floors of the castle. Pain—little pain, yes, but there was pain regardless. Ivory was pinned against a pillar, a tempest of air holding her tight against the column.
She gritted her teeth—at least, she believed she did. Nonetheless, I Am seemed to have taken notice of her actions.
But there was little point in using the air. She could not do it; she could not kill a child. Although it was rather debatable whether harm done within this world could be carried over to the other. In any case, her enemy remained a child... She simply could not do it.
"Calm yourself!" I Am declared, shadows in the corners of the hall twitching for that very moment. "You will have me explain before such things are repeated."
Ivory narrowed her gaze. "Why did you bring her here?"
No response was immediately admitted to the words. Instead, the child bobbed her head for a moment and uttered, "You see, I was looking for a new god to serve."
What?
"And it so happened that there was something here."
"You worship the Formless?" Ivory questioned, and the girl nodded.
"Very few of them still exist, and in the end, the sect wasn't intriguing anymore, so he... found me."
"Found you?"
"That is what I said." The girl smiled. "And I do... You know, apologize for your clan and all. And for your father, too."
She fumed. "What did you use?" This was an opportunity. "What did you use to poison him?"
The child cocked her head. "I thought that much was obvious; he even mentioned some information in regards to it." She sighed. "Anyhow, your father—Argon, was it?—was poisoned by a stronger version of the Crimson Rot."
"I know that! "How did you get it?" Ivory asked, her hair still flapping from the force of the wind.
The girl, on the other hand, spared a glance at I Am before responding. "Well, it came from Mordrask!"
The light around I Am brightened for a moment.
She continued. "It was rather treacherous to find. A lot of deaths, but I suppose it was rather interesting."
Ivory was stunned. Those words were not at all what she expected. Until now, everyone believed the Rot was something akin to a symbolic disease. It still was; however, its appearance was often believed to be a sole consequence of symbolic confusion. Similar to how wild casting could turn one into a Talemir.
The Rot was believed to be similar. But this child, this girl, spoke of a source. Mordrask—a thing or a man that had the Rot! That means, she thought, it could be studied at its source for the creation of a cure...
Her breath froze. "Where is he?"
"Hmm?"
"I will forgive you. I will forgive what you have done if you answer this question for me... Where is Mordrask?"
This time, I Am seemed excited by the question. His light, brighter than she had ever seen it, was practically a sun. At least, based on the ancient texts of one.
The girl maintained an extended silence for a while before sighing. "You did just try to kill me."
"So did you!"
"I suppose that is technically true." The girl waved tiredly. "Even I don't know much about Mordrask; the leader didn't exactly reveal information about him. Even his location was traversed using the Cognitive Realm, not by skyship. However, I do think some information about him exists in Nightfell."
She paused. Nightfell? What would Nightfell have to do with the Crimson Rot? Or was it related to the strange news of new religions and whatnot cropping up there?
She pondered and took a breath. "That's it?"
The girl shrugged. "You could question them about the Last Highness. You know, the one that has still yet to be replaced."
"You mean the one that was killed by the church?"
The child nodded. "Although I sense the 'how' of his death might provide information on what you want."
She lowered her gaze for a while and said, "I will behave, I Am."
The wind pressing against her vanished, and even the knife that had strangely appeared was gone. She closed her eyes for a moment and sealed back that roaring madness. This was not the time for it—it was meant for another. Kabal or Heid, or whatever he had chosen to go by... Her madness would hunt him.
Ivory walked forward, standing side-by-side with the new member. "So, she is the response to our previous talk."
"It would appear so," I Am said. "You did dream of something of the sort. A group, a team to be what your people cannot."
She closed her lips for an instant and said, "Thank you." Although, considering that in reality her physical body was most likely dropped flat on the ground, she could do well to take this as a suitable retribution.
She waited a moment and asked, "What now?"
"We grow," I Am responded. "We grow, and we are known."
Typical, she muttered within. The Formless wanted to be known. It wanted to grow stronger. She nodded. At least, his strength in some way equated to her own. The chalk, the sudden surges of force that acted like the greatest of boons... The stronger I Am became, the stronger she did. Temporarily, at least.
The child clapped her hands and bumped into Ivory. "So, what now?"
A flare of rage burned abruptly within her, but some measure of control was quick to return to her mind. She responded after a breath. "Perhaps we give ourselves names."
"Formalities," the girl nodded. "In that case, refer to me as Miss Wednesday!"
Miss Wednesday? Ivory knew that word: Wednesday. One of the strange words that wasn't exactly Old Tongue and whose meaning was most likely lost to time. There were seven such words, although at some point, a lore master had proposed the idea that the words were a mark of days. Seven days, in fact.
Which, of course, was ludicrous, since Enor had far more than seven mere days.
She sighed within. "Then call me Friday."
"I like it." The girl smiled, and Ivory, for a moment, contemplated changing the title. But alas, what was done was done.
She looked at the lofty I Am. "And what exactly would we call ourselves?" She had an idea already, but there was a certain need for courtesy.
I Am maintained his quietude before the light around his face beamed for an instant. "What are your options?"
Ivory parted her lips. "Why not—"
"Let's call ourselves the Dreaming Sect!" Wednesday muttered gleefully.
What? "No!" Ivory roared, louder than she expected.
They turned to her.
Silence now; silence was the response to her sudden exclamation. Mist! She paused, took a moment to take in air, and declared, "Let us be called the Days of the Dreaming!"
And like that, like a declaration of acceptance, I Am beamed his rays wild across the grand hall, brightening the space with a brilliant luminosity. He had taken a liking to the name. By now, Ivory had learned to interpret the states of this Formless from the intensity of his light. The dimmer hues were often a sign of low spirits, while the brighter ones were the opposite.
That was good...