Valley at the Edge of Everywhere

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Nor were there always demons or divinities. Neither were there always frumpkins nor fae-kin. One could not always find Starchildren nor seeds with the potential to become Eaters-of-Worlds. What the Valley did always contain was The Vast Limitlessness of Pure Unbridled Potential and all the madness it entailed.

The stories varied wildly across species throughout existence, but there were some consistencies. A fire in the sky: raging phoenix or dragon or willful godling; seeding and shaping worlds in its passing, bringing both light in the darkness and terror in the night. Lone wanderers stumbling through puddles of the night sky entranced by the dance of heavenly bodies and tumbling into Oneness with the Universe. Returning, if at all, changed at best, or as vanguard to waves of Things Unseen at worst.

Ascendancy, creation, communion, probability, all themes rooting themselves deep throughout every layer of reality, across oceans of time, across cultures and species… even scattered fragments within the fractured communities of the Sovereign AI, where data is king, and myths or fables are hard to come by.

Above Rook and his companions, space stretched out to its limitless infinity, the membrane that sat like a bubble atop the tiny ship afforded its passengers a singular view illustrating what insignificant specks of dust the meager passengers on their incalculable journey were. The sheer scope of what they were doing, even what they'd already achieved, and what it had (and had yet to) cost, shook Rook to his core. He stood gazing out into the sparkling cosmic mist that shrouded the Valley's contents from all outside intrusions and considered the fragmented quilt of legend, prophecy, and mythology from which his cousin had pulled a thread for them to follow to this ultimate destination.

Lydyll had always been inquisitive and passionate, with a fondness for xenomythology, but since returning from their own incidental trip through a puddle of night sky, supposedly to the Valley and back again, they had been obsessed with returning to what they swore was a physical place. A place they could feel, gently tugging at their hearts or so they would have everyone believe. Of course, now, here they presumably were, The Valley. It was with this thought in mind that Rook considered the implications of walking across the surface of what for all intents and purposes was a comet, throwing most of his own argument out when he considered the implications of recently landing a ship successfully on the surface of one.

A crimson overlay began pulsing rhythmically across the membrane, and the ship's bonded spirit began to rattle off a rapid dissertation on the need (for the ship's structural well-being, obviously) to depart the current locale with expediency. Rook gave a brief thought to how fond his father was of this particular ship, an Orweni-grown techno-organic Marathon-class long-range scout, possibly one of the fastest varieties ever grown in the ship orchards of Eowid III, and his father had made quite a few after-market modifications. Of course, it only seated four. He chuckled before entering the command for the ship to stay anchored until their return, then diverted all remaining power to physical energy shields, and engaged the last of the little ship's arcane fortifications.

"Life support is off-line, everything this little guy has left is pumped into making sure he's here when we get back. Suit up, and double-check your anchor-boots, this is going to get a little dicey," this last he said to the third member of their group, a younger Flux from a minor house that had been sleeping in the ship's loo when Rook had chosen it as his vehicle of escape while absconding with the priceless suits they had now begun to don, hoping as he did that the damned things were everything that his father boasted of them being.

They stripped the interior of the ship of everything they could carry. Packs, backpacks, pockets, and pouches stuffed nearly to bursting with scanners, spanners, rations, and medkits. Rook traced a finger over the nearly invisible arcane runes stitched all along the seams of the last remaining suit, then rolled it up tightly, surprised by how compact the material could become. He then reached to thumb open the hatch, but paused, noticing a cleverly concealed compartment. He pressed gently against the panel, and with an audible click, it tilted forward to reveal a stoppered glass bottle half-full of deep amber liquid.

"*Oh my…*" Lydyll's voice spoke directly into Rook's mind.

Their eyes met, then sliding from Rook's to lock eyes with the young stowaway's, Lydyll said audibly," Apologies, I am still learning control. Mindspeak is a side-effect of my recent Bonding, and our physical closeness and heightened emotional state make things challenging."

The stowaway blushed, "I've often found myself uncontrollably delighted by the sudden appearance of fine liquor. No harm done… and if… practicing? with my mind helps you, please, feel free."

Rook rolled his eyes and thought, "*This fuc… wait, you can "hear" me, can't you, Lydyll? What about the kid? Can they "hear" me because we're all so near… or just you? I mean, like can only you "hear" me and can they only "hear" you… I think*?" he nearly laughed at the absurdity of the unspoken line of questioning.

In answer, Lydyll smirked and turned towards the younger Flux, who, like many their age wore desirous androgyny like a simple comfortable old frock. They seemed nonchalant. Lydyll shrugged.

Rook's eyes narrowed but softened when he saw the kid wince while shouldering their pack, and he remembered the bandaged wound. The kid would have trouble using the arm still for a bit, but the Flux were a resilient species and recovered quickly. In a rush to escape, Rook had botched the initial clearance for takeoff, resulting in the kid taking a shot from a security drone intended for Lydyll that would've likely fried his cousin's freshly bonded symbiote.

"Here ki… Jeanea? Right? House… Demurgante, yeah? You guys are "Teeth of the Beast that Wails" or something like that...?" Trailing off, he popped the stopper and took a brief swig, savoring the burn as it crept up, watering his eyes, and began a fake pass to the stowaway, diverting to Lydyll, who he knew would likely decline.

"Deanea Primagante, "the kid snapped, stressing the "D" and "Prima". They squinted one eye and pursed their lips as they snatched for the wayward bottle, "our House is First Fangs of the Feared Matron, for whatever that's worth these days."

The bottle now well in hand, they took a long pull, savoring it as they replaced the stopper. Eyes widened, then with a low whistle, appreciatively, "Denisovu Brandy… well, uhm… we'll need this later."

They deftly disappeared the bottle into their main pack and checked the antique scattergun they'd found in the hold with several boxes of what appeared to be replicated ammunition: fat metal slugs as wide as a thumb with an archaic combustible propellant. The tips of each slug were carved with a rune. Rook's father was a collector of such artifacts, personal weapons were a focus of his Ardor, using his own talents to customize and enhance the ancient tech.

"This thing looks mean," Deanea said, already slipping comfortably into the process of loading the break-action firearm.

Rook was becoming enamored of the youngster's presence and intensity. They may have been found napping on the job, but they had no shortage of steel in their spine, figuratively speaking. Rook would have to sort them out about their habit for performative adulation at some point.

Deanea took a ready stance at the hatch giving a short nod which Rook and Lydyll echoed to one another. Rook keyed the opening, iris forming in the blank wall and swirling open in a smooth motion, then pooling into the form of a landing ladder before taking firm shape once more. Deanea began to disembark, swinging the scattergun slowly in front of them.

The few sources Lydyll found that referenced the locale of the Valley had intimated the surrounding area would be "fraught with mortal danger, a place of unimaginable power". While this was often the sort of warning placed simply to stave off the weak of heart, their current locale was just shy of a waking dream.

"I'd say this confirms the long-range scans," Rook said aloud with a bit of awe to no one in particular.

He stared across a landscape akin in seeming to the artic of many habitable worlds. Blue-white dominated the visual field, with deep eddies of dark cerulean curling in whorls and whisps all throughout broken platforms of elevation. Throbbing, pulsing up into blinding white, shards of crystal ranging in girth from finger to thigh had erupted up through light blue blisters across the surface and now stood vigil to the outsiders' visitation.

Arcanium was a rare energy source found most commonly on worlds where the effects of its radiation were the basis of "magic". In fact, the ship they'd arrived in ran on a stabilized Arcanium core, custom-built and installed by Rook's father. That core was the most Arcanium Rook had ever seen, until now. Whatever else this "comet" and the Valley turned out to be, it appeared to be made entirely of pure, raw Arcanium.

This made the comet's surface dynamically treacherous; studded with irradiated crystals, the span between the ship and the Valley's perimeter was a potential minefield primed for a nasty chain reaction under the wrong circumstances. At best, triggering one to shatter would spray a cloud of fine pinprick particulate out into the cosmos, seeding the power of potential in an interdimensional wave across the vastness of time and space. So infused with potential were these tiny, barbed storms anyone or anything caught unprepared in the initial burst became one with the cosmic effluvia of the multiverse at large. Hence, the Suits.

They hadn't known what to expect, so to be prepared for anything, Rook had stolen The Regalia. A prize in the collection of Rook's father, the Suits had been crafted and worked upon by master artisan's across many disciplines. A testament to the wealth, power, and resources of Rook's House, Chimoshi, the four suits Rook had stolen were a one-of-a-kind set, fortified with a bulwark of adaptive protections purportedly blending the bleeding edge of dark science with sorcerous alchemy and runic fortification. Rook's father loved to tell the tale of walking along the surface of a star as cozy as a seat by the Hearthfires of Bakan.

Nevertheless, his pulses quickened, and his breath came in a stuttering staccato as Deanea took their first tentative step onto the surface and began to gently pick a path forward. Here, the boots could be both boon and bane. They would increase or decrease the mass of a wearer's steps, making one light-footed or giving one a greater anchor of stability at the wearer's whim. A competent user could employ them for sure-footed grace and deadly effect under the right circumstances. Neither Rook, nor either of his companions were competent users.

Rook, releasing a paused breath unrealized, watched as Deanea's anchoring steps began to cause rippling waves to echo out across the ground and called out, "Be careful kid, slow down, your anchor-boots are overcompensating."

"There's… atmosphere…" said Lydyll wonderingly observing readouts on the inside of his faceshield, "and some gravity. Like, JUST enough of either. Arcanium radiation is off the charts, and it is fluctuating and surging all around…"

Rook turned back towards the Valley just in time to see Deanea, still only a short distance away, stumble, going to one knee. In one of those curious slow-motion moments that seem to come most often when briefly convinced of the potential for the cessation of one's own existence, he watched as the kid's eyes shot up to meet his, and in that instant a nearby cluster burst, hurling a multitude of needle-like micro-crystals at the young Flux, consuming them in a blinding shower of twinkling brilliance that then scattered, chaff in a cosmic breeze.

"SHITshitshitshitshit, RUNES, LYD, RUNES, activate the runes on your fucking suit, NOW!," Rook yelled and thought at Lydyll in equal measure as he shoved them back into the ship, tumbling in after, looking up in time to see bits of the cloud either pass harmlessly by or shatter against the ship's shielding. The ship's runework flared, blazing out across the hull, absorbing the latent power in a flash. A blinking gauge on the control panel showed a surge in power indicating full capacity.

His cousin visibly winced trying to stand, hands at the sides of their head. Then both traced a simple pattern along their forearms. The suits briefly ignited in a brilliant pattern of glowing amber runework before fading.

"I can't believe I forgot to activate our Runes," Rook said contritely.

The suits were designed to adapt themselves to the dynamic needs of their Flux wearers, though as was normally the case, runes required a tactile catalyst. Rook glanced uncomfortably at his cousin and wondered again at the decision to bond with the symbiote that coiled so comfortably around their neck, hidden beneath the suit's unique fabric and appearing as little more than exceptionally broad shoulders on the slight frame of Lydyll's current form.

After a moment the unsettling duality of Lydyll's mindvoice slipped into Rook's surface thoughts, "*A great loss, Cousin, the youngster was… puzzling, but we were growing rather fond. We shall miss them.*" The concerted voices speaking directly into Rook's mind were an indicator that the whole being, Lydyll, and the symbiote, were fully unified in the sentiment.

Then, LydyllSymbiote continued, "*There is no need for shame or guilt, Cousin. Though they joined us circumstantially, they'd quickly become enamored of our cause and the alluring nature of our adventure. Only an individual Flux can truly understand the calling of one's own Ardor, but the invitation of adventure is a powerful elixir to us all. We will see to reparations with their House, and keep their name in Glory*"

The unspoken tone was definitely Lydyll, somewhat scholarly while remaining light-hearted, but the mindvoice of the Flux of House Mmr'mm with whom Rook had grown up in the way of cousin-as-sibling was joined by the deep, sultry, feminine, and playfully derisive voice of the symbiote. It was said that the longer-lived the symbiote, the more jaded they tended to become, but Lydyll had agreed to this joining due to the depth of knowledge laid bare in a being of such age.

By the current Universal Time Code, their bonding would remain for decades yet, beings so deeply rooted in one another as to be inseparable until the time came for the symbiote to pass on to a new host. It was a testament to the bond that Lydyll's form had settled, for the bond's tenure, into something slender and ambiguous, yet with well-defined androgenous musculature. Undeniably tolerably attractive to most observers while completely lacking in anything defining or individually characteristic, a form more common in younger Flux, like their obliterated companion.

Rook shivered involuntarily, an icy blade traveling up his spine and rattling his teeth,"*Tied inextricably to another individual, a spectacular loss of solitary autonomy… none for me, thanks,*" he thought with a twinge of… disgust? That made him ashamed.

"*Shit, sorry, I didn't…*" Rook began in his mind.

"*Peace, Cousin,*" Lydyll interrupted, the thoughts coming without any tinge of reproach, "*…had I not sought this bonding and accepted it wholly of my own free will, we would not stand in this place as we do now, we might never have stood in this place at all… but you were staring again.*"

"Dammit, Deanea would still be here if I'd remembered to tell them about activating the suit's arcanum. The runes work, we both just saw the ship's absorb and redistribute, as intended. All practice, no more theory." Rook proclaimed aloud, "We may have just lost a boon companion and a third of our resources with our destination in sight, but our journey is far from over. They also had the scattergun… and that brandy… but I've still got the Cephalum."

He pulled an odd organic-looking multi-barrel pistol from the holster at his side, the barrels began to spread out, revealing themselves to be tentacles that writhed briefly around a central mawed beak, before twirling back together in a braid-like twist, tips glowing.

Out in the distance, another burst and a great shearing moan like a collapsing iceberg prefaced a massive chain reaction. The resultant twinkling cloud of swirling pure potential was immense and dashed toward them on little cat feet. Rook slammed the actuator, the landing ladder melted, pooled up around the hatch opening, and irised shut just as the cloud overtook the little ship.

Already at capacity, the ship seemed to shrug off the initial impact but then began vibrating violently. The entire ship was bathed in rhythmically shifting amber and red light as the membrane around the cockpit filled with the ship's bonded spirit's warning and the runes coruscated wildly all-round the exterior. With a violent tremor, the shield collapsed briefly before exploding outward in a wave pushing everything within meters of the ship out and away. The blast echoed out, rupturing crystals all around, their own explosions pushed even further away within the wake of the shield burst.

The effect seemed to go on forever, and as the catalyzed destruction played itself out around the surface, the two remaining companions began to realize that the thunderous rumble beneath their feet was far more than the tiny ship itself, but the path to the edge of the Valley now seemed clear. Rook keyed the hatch, and it spilled back down into a landing ladder. They disembarked once more.

On the surface now, Rook looked back and could see some small patches of runework along the ship's surface had gone dim, but already seemed to be repairing themselves, "Runes work," he mumbled aloud.

"*Indubitably.*" Lydyll thought in return, as both broke into a brief fit of nervous-but-relieved maniacal laughter, then sobered, Rook wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

Pulling a slender silver rod capped with multifaceted crystals from the pack at their hip, Lydyll gave one crystal a twist revealing the rod to be a set of nested tubes, then crystal in either hand separated the tubes revealing a thin, sheer, flat membrane that flared to life with a dim blue glow. Lydyll held this up before their suit's faceshield, turning full circle as runes and symbols flared around the screen.

"*It would seem we have truly found the Valley. You may find absolution in bringing such vast potential to the House. The theft of his suits & ship being tiny transgressions against your Father in the face of such an accomplishment, yes?*" the deep sultry tone of these thoughts was more symbiote than Lydyll in Rook's mind.

"*Nope, just not a fan…*" Rook thought, then, "*…dammit,*" realizing for neither the first nor the last time that he couldn't keep a thought to himself when the bonded pair was so near at hand.

"*No, you can't,*" a bit of gently mocking laughter joined the feminine overtone in Rook's head this time.

"*Enough!*" nearly shouted in his head, then verbally, into his comm, Rook said, "Lydyll, can you make out anything beyond that sparkly non-sense?"

"No," Lydyll replied aloud, now repeatedly tapping the side of their faceshield, cycling through several technical scans, diagnostic membrane now held hold at their side. Then, directly into Rook's mind again, "*Whatever it is and whatever lies beyond are outside the bounds of even the formidable resources we bring to bear, defying definition or insight. We'll be flying blind.*"

They began making their way across the expanse, closing distance with the Valley's edge. Rook followed closely behind Lydyll as they continued to scan the vista ahead. Suddenly, the rumbling thunder beneath their feet seemed to engulf them as in the distance a mighty flash like lightning flared on the horizon, casting Lydyll in stark silhouette and startling Rook into a defensive roll.

He came up, tentacled pistol thrashing in anticipation, then eased into a relaxed posture removing his finger from the triggerbead. Lydyll's shielding had flared to life and absorbed then redistributed the residual blast of raw forces. The tiny runes all across their suit were lit in coalescing patterns before they dimmed to a warm scintillating orange glow.

"Suits work," Rook observed aloud.

Lydyll glanced down, then reached out to Rook, and willed the reserved energy to travel across the suits, equalizing between them, fortifying life-support, recharging shields, then diverting out into the tentacles of Rook's pistol, which extended briefly, twirled together again in a braid-like fashion, and filled with an amber glow; tips now nearly iridescent.

"*We've seen what can happen when the runes get overloaded. We'd rather not test the suits' capacity,*" came the mindvoice of the unified LydyllSymbiote.

Rook lifted the strange pistol again, tentacles thrust rigidly forward quivering with an amber hum Rook took the lead now and closed the little remaining distance. The dense glittering cloud looked, for lack of anything else to compare it to, like the entire vast expanse of existence crumpled down and stuffed into a ragged wound on the surface of an ever-dying starlet desperately fleeing its own demise.

"*Cowabunga it is,*" he thought to no one in particular as he eased forward through the border of what is and what would be.