Greatness | Torn Asunder 00
Festor's parents have demanded he attend clergy training to keep their rebellious son in line. When sneaking out for what might be the last time, he discovers something that changes everything...
I’m writing this story as a teaser for my visual novel Project Grandfather Clock - demo coming this winter! You can find some previews here and follow updates on my community Discord (codeword: asunder)
| Wails of L’Sunder: Cheyava, Theophor - Year 1
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“We gather here today to give thanks to Theo for our daily bread, and share in this feast He has generously provided us,”
A nineteen-year-old Festor Armston recited the daily dinner grace standing atop a chair at the head of his dining table, his antiquated parents his audience, their chagrin evident in their wrinkled faces. But those words came out flat, something about them irritating him.
Theo made this feast? The recipe Festor hand-crafted himself, the meal he poured hours of meticulous craft into? Pah! His parents eyed the food-coloring-marinated spaghetti in front of them skeptically, but that didn’t matter. Festor didn’t want holy perfection. He wanted credit.
He lifted the final ingredient to his recipe, delicately, careful not to dent the thin, round wafer between his fingers. Positioning it over the serving dish, anchoring a foot on the table with dramatic flair, he announced,
“And now… for the finishing touch!”
And the wafer crumbled with a snap. Violet sparks popped between Festor’s fingers as the cracker shavings sprinkled onto the food, whistling as they whisked across the table. The chandelier shook, moonstone lightbulbs flashing as the presence of the fluorescent haze disturbed them. The Armston parents shielded their eyes, dodging the flares of blue and green rippling before them.
The lights faded, but Festor’s hands were still tingling. Yes!
“Festor Armston!” his mother stood, straightening her already suffocatingly rigid dress, eyes militant. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
“I used The Moon’s holy worship bread as seasoning,” he explained, with a matter-of-fact confidence, twirling a fork through the pasta.
“And do you know what it’s done to you?” his father’s eyes narrowed, staring at the shimmer still lining his son’s palms.
Fester clapped his hands triumphantly. “A disruption of The Moon’s order, giving me the Blessing of the Forbidden Goddess!” And that means credit for the dish goes to me!
His mother’s glare remained unmoving, his father fidgeting as he drifted between parental composure and wiping away the sweat of his fear. He was the weaker of the two, but being a Theocricite man, he’d still have to say what Festor knew his mother wanted him to. So, with a hard gulp of air, he pulled Festor towards him by the elbows and said, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, son, but…”
His father stood and started tugging Festor out of the kitchen. “At this point, you must join the Holy Orders! It’s the only thing that might straighten you out.”
The elder man began adjusting Festor’s shirt, the frilled lavender scarf-ruffle he’d made from an old tablecloth starting to unknot, tucking the decoration hidden inside his son’s collar, “You’re suited for it enough. Your interests are so… domestic, you’re sensitive, you like giving us dramatic speeches, and you’ve already just about got a Moon-forsaken robe on! So, clergyman? You’ll fit right in…”
“Perhaps it is the only place you can,” his mother interjected. She entered the conversation carrying a dark cloak, constricting the heavy fabric tight over Festor’s shoulders. “This is non-negotiable. And hide your Forbidden Blessing. You can’t have an incident like that on your record, young man…”
Oh, little did mother know… The cloak was only encouraging him. Festor leapt from his bedroom window that night as nothing more than a shadow, whispered through the streets as a vaguely flapping form that may as well have been a bird, before escaping town into the brilliant, beaming moonlight.
Having some camouflage helped with his nightly sneak-outs, where he’d go hunting. For treasure. Stolen or discovered. And breaking Theo’s laws? He didn’t care, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone. He had a rich, proper family, as the only son of the devout Armstons, but by night, Festor evaporated from his mansion into the street life. The free life. He was like that, someone who should be prissy and pious, as a Chastian Theocricite - the self-described mostest-Holiest of denominations - but he could never be broken in. His pristinely pricey garments embroidered themselves with rips each time he went out on his adventures, his soft blonde hair always stubbornly blotched by one large, black streak.
Festor reached the open fields, snowy grasses shining silver under the massive ivory sculpture hovering in the sky. He peered down on Festor with His great diamond eye - The Moon.
But Festor still had further to walk, far enough to leave the boundaries of The Moon’s vision. A scar lined the earth to his left, seams of jagged rocks forming a stone forest. Above, larger shapes glinted between the stars, their dimmer forms blurring out the constellations. Asteroids - formed after the world had been ripped apart and reshaped by another deity’s disruption. Theo’s people were thankfully spared from the accident, but even His territory took some damage, its torn pieces surviving as asteroids and tiny planetoids orbiting above.
The idea of this mysterious cosmic destruction artist always fascinated him. Festor descended into the ruins, masterfully leaping between rare landing spots among spiked stone. He gripped the edge of a particularly long, jutting rock, palms scraping off its rough edge as he swung to the bottom of the crevice. And then he was in.
He took different turns each night, scanning the walls for fossils, inscriptions, clues. He paused when he saw a faint, green light blinking through another tunnel. Its pulses illuminated a shape Festor never thought he’d see.
He crept closer, hand on the knife he always brought to arm himself. What lay before him was the door to a metal hangar. A spaceship. The stuff of legends.
The sliding door was only opened a sliver. Its frame shook from an unseen force. Tapping the knife against the edge as a sort of knocking revealed a loud, moaning echo, but no inhabitants. It was abandoned.
Festor, his frame agile, squeezed through the opening into the ship. Though dimly lit, enough of the green wirings of half-powered electronics allowed him to see, furnishings shadowed not by the darkness but by ash. Most lay toppled, cracked beyond recognition.
At the edge of the ship, however, awaited a massive star chart. Judging by the shift in the wall’s color, Festor suspected the area had once been its own room. Intricate patterns of glowing orange paint traced over the walls on all sides, floor to ceiling, the markings deliberate - more artistic than practical.
It wasn’t a map, it was a legend. And, rested between old debris, another piece of that legend gleamed in brilliant orange.
Festor tugged the bent piece of metal between both hands, revealing a mask. Its shape was outlined by sun-like spires, the face split between the white arc of a crescent moon and a shadowed half dappled by a glittery stardust.
He knew this mask. L’Sunder. A hero, a man who walked the line between Theo-Blessed and Forbidden-Blessed, merging both powers into a living, breathing supernova. This “Sunder” magic was a rare gift, the L’Sunder title a great destiny, and Festor knew finding the mask meant that destiny belonged to him.
Greatness. But as he lifted the mask to his face, his hands felt weary. Another series of echoing moans sang throughout the decayed ship, sounding like distant wails, sourced from nowhere except the interior of the ship itself. The floor, since Festor had arrived, had been humming with a faint rumble.
Whatever caused the impact of this spaceship had been a force so great, so loud, so violent, its cries still echoed on to this day. Becoming a supernova meant dying a supernova. Suddenly, greatness seemed to have a heavy cost…
Like what you’ve read? Be sure to check out other stories in World of Gray…
A Cloudless Snow - A clergyman struggles to keep his faith amidst a wrongful Holy War. Takes place approx. 60 years after this piece, also features more of Festor
Flight of Fancy - The possibility of being forced to leave his monastery sees a monk feeling more trapped than ever... Takes place approx. 10 years before this piece, also features a cameo of Festor
The Giantcatcher - A fortune-teller sets out to prove his Goddess is real. Set in the newborn World of Gray, the same year as this piece
Hey, there’s a wiki - and we’d love your help completing it!
And don’t forget to visit The CroXdome, the website for my original board game CroXcards, also containing a catalogue of all World of Gray TTRPG content
Welcome to the House of Chapters Highlights #11.5!