I Remember

Action is Traction: Given to Wondering

The last week has been near enough to put me in the ground. I think I said something like, "I want to crawl into a cave and not come out again until I am covered in moss."

Not all the days have been bad. Perhaps the largest portion of my progress came when I apparently became the second person to pass the first trial to enter Callum's Nine. He was proud. That felt good. It was a reward by itself. Additionally, I now have a rifle which is bound to me, which will reject any other, and, while already the greatest weapon I have ever handled by far, can evidently be upgraded.

It was the days that followed which have exhausted me. I hope my thanks to Rhionna were sufficient. Callum and Rhoeta may deny it all they like, but if it were not for her intervention, they would not be around to protest. I do not have a grain of doubt about that. The inelegance that followed...I have nothing to say beyond that I do not know what else I should have done. I am still disgustingly ill-equipped for social situations.

The next day, Llumun died. He did not have to. And he would not have. The little idiot chose his fate. Llumun is dead. It is over.

I wish I had more to say about that. I thought I would feel something.

The same day Callum and I returned to the Arshae house at Bix's summons. Rhoeta and myself were both stabbed by phony agents, who we (mostly she) then killed. She seems to be faring well. Callum stitched my wound closed. That is well and good. I feel rage festering inside me when I remember that Bix attacked Callum, though. This will not do. May the Eternal Alchemy have mercy for him. He will find none in me.

I thought I had seen the signs of Callum growing increasingly wayward; in turn I became increasingly despondent. It came to its fruition, as I knew it would. I had always kept the door open so that he may walk out of it when he realized what he had gotten himself into. Not anymore. Now I am holding him to his promises. I believe you now, Callum.

I had all but resolved to finally speak with Mnostovo about my damned stomach before I was put so unceremoniously inside Isendil's person. Anyone else would be astounded at that fact alone—and I was, to be sure—but moreso was my amazement for how it felt to be out of my body. I felt indomitable, like I could run on water. Like I could fight a shark with my bare hands and perhaps even win. I did not know how awful I felt in comparison. Before, this was simply something I realized I needed to do. Now I want to do it.

For some time now I have wanted a new set of armor. Something more practical. My first one is good, but investing in a set specialized for the desert was a mistake. The coin I took from Llumun allowed me to finally have it. I explained the mechanisms to Callum, but I do not think he understood. I will need to practice with the eyepiece.

The thought that grows in my mind is that I do not know whose creature I am. Mother made me curious, thoughtful, adventurous, and friendly. Llumun made me sick, stunted, hideous, and skittish. Tabit made me libertine. Shairi made me fearful, faithless, and antisocial. The shaper made me ambitious. Callum motivates me. Sometimes I am given to wondering who Pelavel is.

That is disgusting. I am drained.