First Insight
As they came closer to the looming administrative building that dominated the landscape with its stark presence, Siomha's attention was immediately captured by the electronic screen positioned next to the ominous apparatus of torture. It stood as a testament to both savagery and the technological remnants of a bygone era. The device's flickering display depicted the outline of a humanoid figure, a silhouette that seemed to mirror the one within. Once showing the perfection and wholeness of pristine skin, it was now bathed in a deep crimson, the result of countless wounds crisscrossing the body like macabre brushstrokes. There, right in the center of his torso, the display showed a sinister shadow—a festering darkness that seemed to originate at his heart, spreading malevolently outward, like black ink bleeding uncontrollably across a saturated page. This unfortunate soul was of the same race as Siomha marking him as an outsider in a world already set against him.
The ADAM system, an ancient relic from the Old World, revealed in stark words and crude graphics that the man’s entire body was temporarily paralyzed because of severe over-exertion, a consequence brought about by the misuse or overuse of his inherent abilities.
She found herself speculating on the nature of these powers that could cause such a vicious backlash against the bearer. What had he done to prompt such a violent reaction from his own gifts? Yet, the growing corruption inside him, a dark blight edging toward the inevitable, was perhaps the most alarming sign of all—a harbinger of a grim future. Fate had apparently reshuffled the cards he held in cruel and unforeseen ways, casting an inescapable shadow over his prospects and setting him on a path as hopeless as it was unclear.
“What is that machine?” Jasper asked abruptly, noticing that she had stopped to gaze far too intently in the direction of the criminal.
“It is a medical ADAM, and a very old version of it,” she replied, her eyes never leaving the antiquated device, the relic that seemed to hold so many answers and yet raise even more questions.
Her words seemed to trouble him. Jasper’s brow furrowed, deep and thoughtful lines etching into his forehead as he tried to puzzle out the significance. An expression somewhere between frustration and determination set on his face, and he demanded, “Speak plainly, human,” seeking more clarity and understanding.
“Automatic Data Analyzing Machine—ADAM—was an invention crafted toward the twilight of the Old World,” she explained, her voice serene but holding a wealth of precision and knowledge. “It was designed to meet the growing demands of society and to address the escalating tensions between humanity and the world, a world that was changing faster than they could comprehend." She paused, glancing at Jasper to ensure he was absorbing her words. "The machine requires only a basic understanding of old-world medicine to interpret its readout, a testament to its ingenious design. It is a rather valuable piece of equipment, as recreating it with our current knowledge is nearly impossible.” Her gaze remained on the device, lost in thought.
Siomha’s voice trailed off, her explanation crisp and almost mechanical in its accuracy, as if recited from memory to satisfy even the most exacting mentors in the Ivory Tower. It reflected her upbringing, her training, and the weight of expectation placed upon her as a member of a prominent family. Yet, despite her thorough account, it did not shed light on the shadows that haunted the man nor the grim future that loomed over him with menacing persistence. She was left wondering how much she truly understood, and how much was simply beyond her reach, obscured by the very limits of her experience.
“Ah, you must be the Thaumaturge.”
The unexpected voice startled her from her reverie, and Siomha shifted her focus from the man to the source of the address. Her attention was captured by an older woman's voice, deep and resonant, accompanied by a snorting sound more reminiscent of a bull than anything human. It was a voice that demanded attention, that signified strength and an unshakeable presence. The woman who greeted her appeared to be an extraordinary amalgamation, as if a madman's vision had fused a beast of burden with a human form in a most unusual and unsettling way. Towering over seven feet tall, her presence was as imposing as it was fascinating, drawing in Siomha's curious gaze.
The crescent horns adorning her peculiar, bovine-like face seemed poised to pierce her own skin should she become enraged, adding an element of both danger and intrigue to her mien. Her hands, though human in shape with the familiar four fingers and a thumb, contrasted starkly with her cloven-hoofed feet, the combination suggesting that nature itself had hesitated in its design, leaving her in a state of uncommon duality. Her legs and knees were expertly structured for endurance, crafted for running great distances with deceptive ease, a testament to the unpredictable results of evolution and genetic experimentation for survival. Draped in a simple beige uniform, the fabric mirrored the hue of her shoulder-length hair, creating a harmonious appearance despite the stark contrasts in her anatomy. Her black eyes, glistening like polished beetles, met Siomha's gaze with an intensity that matched her own scrutiny, locking them in a moment of mutual evaluation and recognition.
"I am indeed," Siomha declared with an earnest weightiness, her tone filled with solemn resolve. "Siomha Sinistra is my name, and I have come here as soon as I could after receiving the urgent request that was dispatched to the Ivory Tower." Her voice resonated with a profound authority, her cadence deliberate and measured, as though every word had been meticulously selected, each choice a testament to her purpose.
The towering bovine demi-human hummed thoughtfully, her expression shifting as curiosity grew. Her eyes narrowed slightly, gathering her thoughts before she spoke again. "Bessie Fireshot," she stated at last, her voice resonant and strong, carrying the same commanding tone her presence suggested. The name was one Siomha had never heard, a strange name to her, yet she received it without hesitation. It was not her place to question such things. "You have come a long way," Bessie observed, her words acknowledging Siomha's arduous journey. Siomha's mind flickered back to the days she spent jolting along in a wandering trader's cart, the blur of a strange and desolate landscape rushing past her, dirt roads stretching endlessly. She could almost feel, once more, the metal beneath her in that rusty, creaking tin can of a vehicle, a poor and outdated piece of machinery that groaned under the strain of each laborious mile, threatening to give out at every turn yet somehow persisting against the odds, mirroring the exhausting but tenacious nature of her journey.
“I do not know much about Wonderworkers or how they operate,” Bessie confessed, her voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of curiosity. Her eyes reflected a mixture of uncertainty and keen interest, as if she were piecing together a puzzle. It was true enough; few truly knew the inner workings of Wonderworkers. They were shadowy figures in most tales, as enigmatic as their powers, often vanishing into the next life almost as soon as they were discovered in this one. Their presence was always fleeting, always charged with apprehension. Each Wonderworker possessed unique abilities that defied understanding, leading to fragmented, often inaccurate accounts of how they functioned or what they could achieve. This aura of mystery only fueled the widespread fear and fascination with their kind. Yet, it seemed Bessie had taken a bold step, employing one of them for a task that remained undefined to Siomha, trusting this mystery over the authority of her own experience. A flicker of intrigue danced across Bessie's eyes as she continued, asking directly the question that lingered between them, “Do you require anything to perform the task we hired you for?” Her curiosity was palpable, echoing in her words as she awaited Siomha's response. Her inquiry hung in the stillness between them, heavy with anticipation.
Ah. This I can answer.
Siomha nodded, and a smile played at the corners of her lips. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, like the soft rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze, a sound so delicate that it seemed almost ethereal. "If there are any personal objects that I can touch," she murmured, the words hovering with intentional precision, "it would make the job much easier." Her fingers twitched ever so slightly, as if already sensing the stories that lay dormant, waiting to be awakened within those objects. They seemed to reach, in their small movements, toward a revelation that only she could summon.
A deep, throaty chuckle interrupted the silence, and Bessie’s voice echoed it, accompanied by the same snorting sound that had startled Siomha before. "We still have his corpse, though it might be a touch too gruesome for a delicate little princess like you," she replied, her tone a mixture of jest and provocation.
Was this woman attempting to belittle me because of my attire? Siomha wondered, the thought flickering momentarily in her mind. She offered a demure smile in response, embodying the pure innocence of a blushing maiden straight out of the ancient tales she once devoured. The faint scarlet hue on her snow-like cheeks cast a cold and chilling contrast, seeming to evoke a sense of dread that caused the cowgirl and her ostensibly benevolent guide to feel a slight urge to retreat, stepping back as if warding off an unexpected threat. Her eyes, still glistening with composure, watched their reaction with subtle amusement.
Her smile gradually dissipated, and she resolved to calm the concerns of the bovine woman before her. Her voice rang with sincerity, layered with both nuance and candor. “I am truly honored that you would spare a thought for me, Lady Fireshot, but there is no need to worry about my well-being," she replied with gentle reassurance, her words building a bridge between herself and her client. "In the pursuit of my calling, I have faced far worse than merely handling the remnants of the deceased.”
A subtle flicker of distress passed over the cow's face. Her eyes widened ever so slightly, and though her distinctly more bestial features made it difficult to discern emotions clearly, the slight quiver in her nostrils and the tension in her brow spoke volumes to Siomha. It was clear that her words had reached deeper than they first appeared to, unsettling something in Bessie that had not been meant for exposure. Her trembling hands, hesitant and filled with a quiet fear, revealed to Siomha that there was more unfolding beneath the surface than she had initially been led to believe. What secrets lay entwined with this corpse, and why did the truth seem to unsettle the cowgirl so?
Despite this, Bessie valiantly attempted to conceal her unease, her voice steady as she declared, "Wonderful." With a nearly dismissive pivot on her sturdy hooves, the bovine Therian strode into the administrative building, her tail swishing behind her in a display of forced nonchalance. The structure loomed ahead, its brick facade casting long shadows in the warm afternoon light. Adjusting the wide-brimmed hat that shaded her eyes, she didn't once look back as she moved quickly, almost hurriedly, from view. Though her outward demeanor spoke of control, the signs of her deeper emotions lingered in Siomha's mind, interweaving curiosity and trepidation into an intricate pattern that begged for unraveling.
Siomha had scarcely advanced a single step when a voice rang out.
"What are you scheming this time, Little Wraith?"
Jasper’s sudden question interrupted her, a cutting challenge in his tone. The deliberate pause in her step betrayed her hesitation, providing Jasper with an answer she would have preferred to keep veiled. He took advantage of it, his hand shooting out with unexpected speed to clasp her arm. His grip was firm and insistent, a tangible expression of his unease. The suspicion in his eyes seemed to glint with a particular intensity, as though the warm afternoon sun had set his distrust ablaze.
Her reaction was immediate, a flinch and a subtle twitch of discomfort distorting her otherwise composed features. The use of the moniker, laden with so much history, unsettled her. Yet this unease quickly dissipated as a torrent of information cascaded through her senses with dizzying intensity. In that moment, time lost all significance, and the present world slipped away from her perception, replaced by scenes of chaos and clarity that flashed with relentless precision.
She no longer stood there at all. The landscape around her blurred and unfolded into a complex tapestry of sights, sounds, and emotions, each distinct thread a shimmering fragment of an intricate design. Her mind was simultaneously engulfed by visions of every potential situation, sudden and imminent, and milestone events long since passed, each dominating her consciousness with equal insistence. The intertwining stories overwhelmed her, a cacophony of human experience tangled with remnants of war and peace, triumph and despair, leaving her breathless and reeling.
The Gnome stood before a shadowy figure, shrouded in mystery and hidden from her understanding, their conversation a cryptic dance of power and influence. Though she strained to grasp the words, they eluded her, veiled in obscurity. The figure, commanding and tall, loomed over the Gnome, compelling Jasper to tilt his head upward in deference, maintaining a facade of politeness. It must have been a jarring revelation to his mind, confronting such authority. From Siomha’s perspective, the words remained lost in the vast chasm of mystery. Yet she could sense the weight of this moment on the Gnome. The visions came in tangled pieces, and she strained to stitch them together, suspending disbelief at all she learned. The sight of that encounter—the power of that figure—burned clear and unbidden in her mind. The tense moments of his past spun onward, but each one lingered with startling clarity.
The acrid scent of gunpowder mingled with the metallic tang of blood, tainting the air as Jasper sprinted through the chaotic streets of Luminara. His voice, desperate and raw, pierced the night, but the city seemed devoid of life, his cries swallowed by the emptiness. Everything had gone wrong, the careful balance tipped into chaos, and now he fled through the disorder as if the entire world had splintered around him. A fever of desperation gripped him, each breath ragged, the failure of rescue hanging like a specter. The reality he built seemed to crumble beneath the weight of his own uncertainty, leaving him alone in the bedlam.
A Gnome woman shrieked, her voice a haunting melody of despair as he restrained her from plunging into the inferno to rescue a young teenager trapped within its fiery grasp. The flames, an unholy and churning blaze, reflected a hellish glow upon his face, illuminating the twisted ecstasy that contorted his features. Phantom words slithered through her consciousness, revealing the dark truth of his thoughts as he feigned attempts to console his wife. "Finally. That nuisance is gone at last." The inferno raged and roared like an ethereal beast, threatening to consume more than just the young life within it. His wife writhed furiously against his hold, her grief a visceral force, but her cries were barely more than a bitter tune in the symphony of destruction and liberation playing out in his mind.
There had been no trace of fatherly love, not a hint of sorrow upon the passing of his only child. The place where grief should have resided was instead filled with an overwhelming sense of relief. His heart was a fortress, cold and unyielding, as he pondered the thought that their family's tarnished reputation would not suffer further disgrace from her actions. The weight of expectations had always loomed large, and now, with her gone, he felt a perverse lightness, a liberation from the fear of additional scandal.
Each revelation about the Gnome pierced with clarity, searing into her awareness with brutal honesty. The family's struggle against shame and Jasper's own eagerness to escape it unfolded before her, unveiling the dark nature of his joy. She had never encountered a father who viewed a daughter's death as salvation, and the sensation left her reeling.
Before Siomha could chase that trail of memories to uncover its destination, Jasper released her and retreated a step, effectively halting her from delving deeper into his thoughts. Not that she had much desire to continue after that unsettling incident. Siomha now possessed a fairly comprehensive understanding of what drove him, like a clock whose inner workings she could now see clearly.
The way she saw him had shifted, the disjointed fragments from his past aligning to form a coherent map. His motivations, hidden in shadows until now, emerged with stark significance, leaving few questions to linger in her mind.
Nevertheless, the way he glared at his hand, as if contemplating severing it from his body, was deeply unsettling. His reaction seemed to stem from his dedication to being a faithful man, convinced that any contact with someone like her, deemed accursed, would taint him irreparably. Or at least, that was the impression she got. Approaching most religious sites was a challenge, for the atmosphere was thick with judgment. The frequent visitors of these places would often fix her with piercing stares, as if her mere presence threatened to obliterate their understanding of the world. Such attitudes hardly fostered an environment conducive to meaningful or productive conversations.
The disdain and suspicion she had grown accustomed to were all too familiar, but the depths of Jasper's conviction were nearly unmatched. His fear of being corrupted by her touch was almost comical, had it not been so fervent. She wondered whether those he associated with would share the same desperate desire to remain untainted.
"Is there something you wish to discuss?" Her voice danced with lightheartedness, masking the intense curiosity that simmered beneath her calm exterior. She fought the urge to pull him into a shadowy alcove, where she could unravel the mysteries hidden beneath his rugged facade, exposing the secrets that lay beneath the surface of his outward appearance...
She inhaled deeply, trying to quell the tangled, unsettling thoughts that often accompanied unexpected visions of Insight. Her mind reeled from the fresh onslaught of revelation, the harsh truths about Jasper taking root with a tenacity that left her breathless. It was always this way—recognition striking hard and fast, leaving her struggling to grasp each piece before it slipped away. The air around her felt heavy, as if it too carried the weight of these intrusive thoughts, thick with the burden of knowledge she had gained too quickly. Her yearning to make sense of it all stirred uneasily within her, a tempest of curiosity and dread. His face contorted in irritation as he gestured sharply toward the exit, his impatience nearly visible in the charged space between them. Siomha's gaze lingered on him, and she saw the familiar discomfort mirrored back at her, as though her presence were an intolerable irritation. Jasper’s eyes deliberately averted hers, a gesture for which Siomha felt a wave of gratitude.
"Just do your damned reading so I can hurry back to Luminara," he snapped, his words laced with an anxiety masked poorly as anger. The unspoken desperation to flee the unclean touch of her Insight lingered, and she wondered how much of the past he had seen during that brief contact. No more than a fraction, surely, but even so, it was enough to stoke his fear and feed his own imagination. His emphasis on Luminara did not escape her notice, and she wondered if he still held any ties to the city that followed beyond familial bonds. The tense silence that followed was nearly palpable, a gulf of misunderstanding neither seemed willing to bridge.
Her smile twisted into a more bitter version before she managed to smooth it into a neutral facade, the effort of concealing her true feelings almost mechanical. The unspoken words of his desire to be rid of her hung heavily in the air, as clear as if they had been shouted. She knew this dance too well—the hurry to be gone, to escape the associations and the shadows that trailed after her, intangible but unmistakable.
"I will do my utmost to uncover the truth of the situation before me," she replied, her voice steady despite the swirl of emotions within her. Jasper's rigid pause felt scornful, and she sensed his disbelief there in the way he hesitated just long enough to suggest she would fail. He thought he could make a quick return to the comfort of his order, where her kind had no place, for he believed that she would soon give up or be found inadequate. She only hoped that what was uncovered here in this remote place would prove worth the complications of his involvement. If not for that corpse and the mysteries entangled with it, she would have been miles away from someone like him and his self-righteous dismissal. For a fleeting moment, Siomha thought she heard the faint sound of laughter, a light, mocking echo that seemed to dance on the edges of her awareness. Despite her certainty, she hesitated to acknowledge it, wondering if her imagination had merely conjured the sound to torment her with the absurdity of the situation. Yet, as she glanced around, the source of the sound remained hidden, like a secret teasing just beyond her reach.