Chapter eighteen
The Soulblender Institute
The soft click of the lock echoed like a thunderclap in the silence as she turned it confidently and pushed the door open with a gentle shove.
Almost simultaneously, a sturdy ladder crashed to the ground with a resounding thud, its wooden rungs worn and smooth from years of use, inviting them to ascend into the unknown depths of the mist-laden realm before them.
But as they clamored up the ladder, the walls of perception exhaled sharply, and Elizabeth felt reality warp around her.
What she had assumed to be an ordinary room spiraled away, replaced in a heartbeat by the tumultuous embrace of the vast ocean.
Penelope opened her eyes, cautious and disoriented. She exhaled deeply, as if expelling the weight of the world from her lungs, only to close them again, retreating into the darkness of her mind.
The visions that had once danced within her were gone, leaving a hollow echo of their presence.
Yet the bowl above her remained stubbornly closed. The heat inside this confining space was unbearable. Each bead of sweat trailing down her skin felt as though it was searing her flesh, intensifying her feeling of entrapment.
Days blurred into each other, the old man's visits becoming ghostly memories that lingered outside her senses. The unsettling sounds of cracking echoes around her hinted at what she could only assume was another student being chosen, just as the Fairy Lord had foretold.
Those moments seemed like cruel taunts, reminders of her isolation while the world beyond her prison moved forward. She settled into her waiting, a complex mix of patience and anxiety gnawing at her spirit.
Then came the blue light, sharp and vibrant against the relentless darkness. It ignited something within her, a flicker of hope but also confusion.
Tentatively, she raised a trembling finger and clicked it. As the voice resonated in her mind, it was both soothing and unsettling.
"That's patience," it murmure nonchalantly. The heat dissipated slightly, and for a moment, the weight of her circumstances lifted. The voice returned, insistent and urgent.
“Touch your left arm.”
Penelope obeyed, her heart racing in an odd mixture of compliance and resistance.
“Touch your forehead.”
She hesitated, confused by the arbitrary command, but followed through, a knot tightening in her stomach. The instant she did, pain erupted—sharp and unforgiving—searing down her forearms like firehose water scalding her skin.
“Good. Now exhale,” the command echoed.
She breathed out, wincing as the burning sensation in her throat intensified. The voice guided her step by step, each instruction leading further into an abyss of confusion and dread. The rhythmic breath was a small reprieve, but as the timer beeped, her exhale felt like a surrender.
"Perfect."
Then came the instruction that sent her spiraling.
“Pierce yourself.”
She felt the needle slide forward, almost of its own accord, an ominous harbinger of pain. Penelope hesitated, staring at the sharp tip glinting menacingly.
How could she harm herself?
The thought of submission churned her stomach like a raging storm, fierce and tumultuous. She despised that feeling—the need to obey felt like betrayal.
Gritting her teeth, she released the needle, watching in horror as it clattered to the ground.
In that instant, a surge of mysterious glow enveloped her head, and the agony erupted anew, pulsating fiercely through her veins. It was as if every fiber of her being ignited in an inferno of suffering. Blood rushed like molten lava through her body, and for a terrifying moment, she feared she might collapse into the flames.
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But the needle rose before her, beckoning her with an urgency she could not ignore. With trembling hands, she grasped it, a dance of reluctance and need.
Gingerly, heart racing, she drove it into her skin.
Elizabeth and Veronica were catapulted into a churning sea of sapphire waves, the salty spray biting at their skin as they struggled against the currents, the horizon a shimmering line of gold where the sun kissed the water’s edge.
“Hey, stay relaxed, it's no big deal.”
Elizabeth turned and spotted Veronica gliding towards her.
“So, this is where we’re meant to be, huh?” Elizabeth swam deeper, feeling the water close in around her. The lack of oxygen made her head spin.
“Breathe, girl,” a voice echoed in her mind. With her eyes squeezed shut, as if blocking out everything, Elizabeth took a cautious, shallow breath, half-expecting the voice to be playing tricks on her. But to her shock, a rush of fresh, crisp air filled her lungs, as if she were breathing in the scent of blooming flowers and the earthy smell after rain.
“This is crazy awesome!” she exclaimed once they reached the seabed. “Wait—so we really belong here?” she asked, still in disbelief.
“Yup, absolutely,” Veronica said, her voice soft and earnest. “Anyone with a goddess or god’s soul mixed into theirs can do this—call us soulblenders.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“After that Ragnarok mess, all the gods are long gone, but their souls are still out there. They look for people here in Midgard who have some magic vibes and kinda lend their power to help them out.”
“That’s a bit nuts,” Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Your ability to breathe underwater and hear voices others cannot perceive are both clear indications that you are extraordinary,” Veronica whispered firmly.
She paused and went on, “Here, visit our underwater headquarters, the only place capable of safeguarding our kind. Welcome to the Soulblenders Institute!”
The S.I. stood tall on this vast stretch of sparkling seabed, almost like a scene straight out of a dream. A ton of shimmering homes, all made from vibrant seashells and shiny pearls, lining the streets like something out of a fairy tale. Next to these stunning houses were trees with leaves in all sorts of greens, stretching up into the sky like they were reaching for the clouds. The roofs were layered with sand that sparkled like it had caught a thousand rainbows. Everything here felt familiar yet so otherworldly – kind of like a magical version of our own world. The ground was made from rich, warm soil that seemed to flow straight from the ocean floor, covered with a plush layer of seagrass that felt soft underfoot. In this whimsical place, seahorses were tied up near vibrant garden fences, animated and full of life.
They chatted away with each other, their little eyes bright with curiosity as they nibbled on the tasty seagrass surrounding them. Nearby, winged children flew around, their laughter ringing like tiny bells in the sweet ocean breeze. Some were sprawled out, lost in their drawings on the ground, while others played tag with the seahorses, who rolled their eyes at the playful teasing, flicking their tails in mock annoyance. At the center of this colorful chaos stood a grand marble house that looked like it was dipped in a magical glow, decorated with rich amber and fine silver. It almost seemed to call out to Elizabeth, stirring up the familiar thrill of wonder she’d felt before, just like that enchanting experience she had aboard the ship.
Suddenly, the deep, resonant sound of a bell echoed across the landscape, making Elizabeth jump in surprise.
A bunch of winged beings burst out from the main building, riding on magnificent seahorses. Their silvery hair flowed behind them like ribbons, and their voices harmonized beautifully, filling the air with song.
"You can intern here for two months," a commanding voice rang out, cutting through the happiness around. "During this time, you’ll pick up combat skills, learn to think on your feet, and figure out how to improvise. At the end, only the bravest will stay.”
Veronica, looking very much the part of a no-nonsense guide, led Elizabeth to a small, nondescript shack. It stood in stark contrast to the magical surroundings, providing a glimpse of the chaotic reality awaiting her. Her heart raced as she took a deep breath, fingers trembling on the doorknob. With a determined twist, she opened the door and was instantly swept into a whirlwind of sights and sounds.
Inside, it was pure mayhem.
Apprentices were buzzing with excitement, chatting and spell-casting, their laughter punctuated by the sounds of swords clashing. Elizabeth scanned the room, spotting younger interns around her age, all dabbling with potions and gear. Some were seriously bending bows, while others were clashing swords, enthusiasm bubbling over in chaotic displays. In one corner, rambunctious kids rolled around, completely unfazed by the stern counselor pacing nearby. And then she spotted an older girl, quietly focused, sketching intricate designs on the ground with firm, steady strokes.
Just when the noise reached a crescendo, Veronica strode in. Her lips were a tight line, and her hands were on her hips. With a sharp clap of her hands, the cacophony fell silent, all eyes darting toward her, the air thick with tension.
"Haven’t I told you guys enough times,” she started, her voice sharp and clear, “only six of you will make it through this internship? So, get ready!”
With her words hanging heavily in the air, the door slammed shut behind her, echoing ominously.
"Man, she’s harsh,” Elizabeth heard a fellow intern mutter under their breath, a mix of sympathy and annoyance in their tone. Trying to escape the frenzy, Elizabeth slipped away to a quiet corner, her heart pounding as she tried to process everything. \Suddenly, a soft voice broke through her thoughts. A woman approached, offering her a sword – sharp and blood-stained, glinting ominously in the dim light. It felt heavy in her hands, a symbol of battles fought and lessons yet to be learned.
The weeks zoomed by in a blur.
Every day started with the crack of dawn, and Elizabeth trained hard, even as her body begged for rest. Besides a few quick meals, her life became a relentless cycle of combat practice with the remaining few dedicated fighters. Slowly but surely, she sharpened her instincts. The sting of a sword slicing towards her chest no longer sent her spiraling into panic. Instead, she began to dodge and charge with newfound precision, soaking up valuable knowledge about antidotes and healing from the woman who had handed her that sword.
What drove her most were the triumphs she tasted in her battles; victories that filled her with a deep-seated satisfaction, keeping her awake with exhilaration long into the night.
But then, just as the excitement builds, a thought hits her, one she hadn’t quite figured out yet.